The Love Games
by temptariesfire
Summary: This fiction is an extension of the third book in the Hunger Games trilogy, Mockingjay. Taking place at the end of the novel, Katniss and Peeta's relationship is explored from the moment they both return to District 12. Completed. Reviews appreciated. Rated MA for mature themes and graphic sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

_Setting: This fiction is an extension of the third book in the Hunger Games trilogy, Mockingjay. Taking place at the end of the novel, Katniss and Peeta's relationship is explored from the moment they both return to District 12._

_Rated MA for mature themes and graphic sexual content._

The scene takes place at the end of the novel, after Katniss has returned to live in District 12 following her assassination of President Coin and subsequent trial. Katniss awakes in the early morning to the sound of a scraping shovel, finding Peeta outside her house.

**Chapter One**

I bound through my front door towards the jarring scraping coming from outside as if still trapped in my nightmares, prepared to encounter a Capitol-engineered monster or a dead tribute come back to haunt me, but my panic quickly subsides as I begin to make out Peeta's form in the faint, early morning light. He is wearing a navy button-down shirt and tailored khaki pants, an unusual outfit to be in while standing with a shovel next to a freshly dug hole, but it seems he has only recently arrived from the Capitol. For whatever reason it does not surprise me to see him here. Perhaps I always knew he would be coming back to District 12 for me, and was expecting his arrival at any moment. Still, this is a strange reunion to have him furiously digging the ground beneath my front windows at barely six in the morning.

"What are you burying, a body?" I ask dryly. To joke about death after all we've been through almost seems tasteless, but lately even I'm surprised by how calloused I've become.

He looks up, giving me a wry smile before motioning to a wheelbarrow of plants next to him. I hadn't noticed it at first, much of the landscape still shrouded in the night's darkness, but upon greater inspection I recognize the wheelbarrow's contents to be primrose bushes, the flower my sister was named for. I expect this realization to result in a sharp onslaught of dagger-like pain in my chest, and am shocked when instead, I feel almost nothing. I have spent countless months isolating myself, torturing myself, wishing myself dead, but at this moment I have gone numb. It's as if my mind and body have made the spontaneous decision to offer me a short, sweet respite from my grief.._. For months now you been engulfed in a debilitating sadness. Now you have earned the right to feel nothing at all._

Peeta places his shovel down, looking intently at my face. "I went to the woods this morning and dug them up. For-"

"For Prim, I know," I interrupt him.

He nods slowly, suddenly seeming unsure of himself and his surroundings. "I must have woken you, I'm sorry. I can do this another time."

"You woke me out of a terrifying nightmare. I can forgive you for that," I say. I take a step down so that we're on even ground, taking a good look at him for the first time since the explosion in the Capitol that both killed Prim and sent him for an extended stay in the hospital's burn unit. I will never fully comprehend the power of the Capitol's medicine; after enduring what was surely countless skin grafts, he shows little remnants of the third-degree burns that once covered his body. Like me, he still wears a number of battle scars on his hands, arms, and legs, but overall I am struck with how physically similar he is to the sixteen-year-old boy who stood beside me on stage the day of the reaping. It only takes one look into his wounded blue eyes, however, to see that those two years have irreversibly changed him. There is a lifelessness to them I'm not sure one would notice unless they possessed it too. He may have the same wavy ashen blonde hair, the same 5'10" build, the same strong arms, but he can hardly be called a boy anymore after all he has had to see and experience.

"Are you back for good?" I try to ask nonchalantly, but suddenly there is a growing sense of immediacy within me that I have a hard time identifying. Why do I feel light-headed with anticipation? And anticipation for what? Why am I anxious as if I know some life-altering event is around the corner and I may never know myself as I am in this moment again?

"Yes. I would have been back sooner if they had only let me. Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday. I was worried sick about you." He rushes through his words, taking a small gasp for air as he finishes. Again he looks uncertain of himself, as if he does not want to say too much for fear of saying the wrong thing. He knows how fragile I've become, how I have been hiding myself away from the world, that it would likely only take one misconstrued comment to send me into a tailspin.

I shrug. "It hasn't been easy, but I'm okay. You know I can take care of myself."

My words come out more biting than I intend, and it is only as I see him begin to shrink back that I become aware of the fact that I desperately want him to stay. I have been alone inside my own thoughts for so long, and there was an undeniable comfort in that, but there is something about Peeta standing in front of me now that makes the thought of another night spent alone intolerable. Peeta, who held me all of those nights before the Games, never loosening his grasp as I woke up thrashing and screaming from my nightmares. Peeta, who never stopped loving me, even when the mere sight of me caused him unspeakable trauma following Snow's torture. Peeta, as damaged as I am - perhaps the only other person in this world who can truly understand what I have gone through.

It is not until he turns to leave that I find the courage to speak out. "Peeta, please. Don't go."

He turns back, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Not even I expected my voice to sound so raw with emotion, so vulnerable. I feel my cheeks grow red at my outburst, and I'm grateful it is still dark outside until I can come to my senses and discover what has come over me to cause this reaction.

"Of course I won't go," he says softly, walking forward to take my hand as if to reassure me further. He probes my eyes for an answer to what I may be thinking, but I avoid him, staring down at my feet. His touch. It isn't until this moment that I realize how long I've gone without human contact. How many days and nights I've needed something, but didn't know what, attributing the aching longing to my grief. The tactile sensation of his firm grasp around my fingers gives me an immediate sense of safety. My thoughts wander, wanting to feel his arms around me, wanting his body to once again serve as a protective shield from all that has ever and will ever hurt me.

As if understanding my thoughts, Peeta speaks again. "It's too early still for you to be up, you look tired. Let's go inside. I'll hold you til you fall asleep."

He doesn't wait for a response, instead assuming control and wordlessly leading me back into the house and up the stairs to my bedroom. I follow him, relieved that he is here, but that pesky nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach remains. I want him to hold me, yes, but I want so much more that I can't even properly place into words.

At the top of the stairs, he looks back at me for a moment, giving me a small smile. "I've missed you," he says. Just as suddenly as it came, his smile fades. "I hate that I've been kept from you."

"Me too," I agree, although I do not admit to him that this realization has only hit me now. What is coming over me... why am I allowing Peeta Mellark to lead me into my bedroom? Why am I secretly hoping that we are not just going to lay down and go back to sleep like he said... There is an indescribable bond between us, we have gone through so much together, but I've never really allowed myself the proper introspection to uncover how I really felt about him. Everything was always too complicated to even entertain the thought of Peeta meaning more to me than a friend. Despite the many kisses we shared, despite the warmth that spread throughout my body during some of those kisses, despite the nights we lay side by side, clinging to each other, knowing it could be our last night in this world... Too much of the time was spent contemplating survival to think about romance.

And then there was Gale. I shook my head as if the motion enabled me to physically remove the thought of him from my head. He was not here, and Peeta was. That alone spoke volumes.

We walk into my room, and Peeta sits down on the side of my bed, tugging me gently down next to him. Even once we are sitting, his hand continues to tightly grip mine as he kicks off his dirt-clad shoes and turns to face me.

"Really, Katniss... how have you been? Are you okay?" He raises his free hand to my face, gently cupping my chin, before seeming to think the better of it and letting his arm fall awkwardly to his side. "The thought of you being alone here with only Haymitch to keep you company..." He rolls his eyes. "Well, I can imagine how that has been."

"It's for the best he never comes around, I've wanted to be alone."

"And now?" He implores me with his eyes to answer him honestly. "What do you want now?"

I am taken aback by his straightforwardness, even though the intensity with which he asks me mirrors the tension I have been feeling ever since I saw it was him who stood outside my front door. We have never been quite like this before, the desperation to connect so palpable.

When I open my mouth to speak, my voice comes out in barely a whisper. "I'm not sure."

"Do you hate me for what I did the last time we saw one another?" He frowns to himself, as he once again bravely brings his hand to my face. I shiver slightly at the brush of his thumb across my lower lip. "Do you remember..."

Of course I remember. After shooting an arrow into President Coin's heart at what was supposed to be Snow's public execution, I had tried to release the deadly nightlock that Cinna had expertly hidden in the sleeve of my Mockingjay costume. Just as I had twisted my neck to bite the secret pocket open, Peeta's hand suddenly appeared to block my attempt, my teeth sinking into his flesh instead and the precious violet pill falling to the ground.

"I wanted to hate you. It wasn't your choice to make." I soften my words with a half smile and a squeeze of his hand. He seems to take this as an invitation, inching in closer until his mouth is uncomfortably close to my own. "But I understand why you did it. I would have done the same for you," I say, my voice uncharacteristically breathy. I don't sound like myself, I don't feel like myself. At the same time, I haven't recognized myself in so long, it's hard to tell.

He squeezes my hand in return and somehow manages to further minimize the distance between us. "It's our own fault we're still alive. If I had stopped trying to protect you and you hadn't always refused to leave me behind... well, we could have died like we'd wanted." His words are somber, but a new life has entered his eyes. There's almost a crazed look to them, of yearning, of desire, and for a moment I am afraid.

I move my body sharply away from his as if by reflex. He looks started. "What's wrong? What did I say?"

"Nothing, I just... How do I know you don't still want to hurt me? You've tried to kill me before, Peeta. And there's no one here to stop you anymore if a memory triggers you."

He knows of course that I am referring to his long and incomplete recovery from Snow's hijacking. "I've been having such fewer episodes, Katniss." He reaches for my hand again, pleading with me to come back. "I continued my therapy even after you left the Capitol, since I knew I'd be coming back here for you. I've been trying so hard to get better."

"But are you better?" My voice quivers a little because I know the answer. He will never be completely himself again, the emotional trauma Snow caused him during his imprisonment

was too extensive. He has made so much improvement since he was rescued and brought back to District 13. I can see in his eyes that he is closer to normal than he has ever been, but there will always be that dark part of him that has been brainwashed to hate me, to want to harm me.

"Not completely." He sighs defeatedly. "I guess you're right. I guess you shouldn't be alone with me. I can feel when the flashbacks are coming now. I have much better control over them, I know how to wait them out. But it's asking a lot of you to trust me to do that, isn't it?" He looks so heartbroken, and it pains me to watch him suffer like this, because he never asked for any of this. He was a pawn in the hands of the powerful corrupt when all he ever wanted was a normal life, a peaceful existence.

"It's not your fault what's happened to you." I feel hot tears forming in the corners of my eyes, and I don't even care if he sees them. The urge is stronger than ever now - to be held by him, to be as physically close to him as humanly possible.

"It's not yours, either," he whispers, leaning forward to press his forehead against mine. So he knows. The guilt I've harbored ever since Snow captured him from the arena, knowing every time he was tortured it was a direct message to me.

I force a smile, although I am feeling less and less emotionally stable and closer to tears. "You know, neither the Capitol nor the rebels got what they wanted the most."

"What's that?" His lips are touching mine now, his breathing heavy. His free arm snakes around my lower back, scooping me further towards him.

"They couldn't separate us, no matter how hard they tried. We're here together now, after everything." My own words propel me forward as I finally give in, pressing my lips firmly to his. He hesitates for a second as if unprepared for this unexpected turn in events, but then envelopes me in his arms, plastering my body up against his and attacking my mouth feverishly.

Kissing him is familiar, but this time is undeniably different. This is not for anyone's eyes but ours and there is no taking it slow. He has been waiting too long for this, and I know now that I have been too. My tongue duels with his as I struggle to kiss him even more deeply, wrapping my arms around his neck for leverage. He attempts to clutch my body tighter and tighter, not satisfied with the closeness of our already entwined bodies even though I can already feel every movement of his upper body muscles against mine.

It's not enough. We are both panting, but frustrated. We have fought too much, hurt too deeply to be comforted by a few kisses.

My hand drops to grab his upper thigh but instead finds his growing erection straining against the fabric of his pants. At first, I instinctually pull away, embarrassed, but after a moment's consideration and renewed confidence, return my hand, giving him a tight tug. He grunts at the contact, pressing a long, hungry kiss to my mouth, before murmuring, "I can't do this."

I break away to look at him, my chest heaving. "Can't do what?"

He exhales deeply, shaking his head. "I came up here to hold you so you could go to sleep, not this. I can still do that, just give me a second."

"Peeta Mellark." I playfully kick his foot that still dangles off the side of the bed. "Stop being such a gentleman for once."

His head falls back in laughter. It's been so long since I've heard him laugh... so long since I've seen any emotion on his face other than misery. It takes a moment before I realize I am laughing too, the giddiness of the heightened energy in the room almost contagious. Is this what it feels like to be happy? Is it possible to build a life again from the ashes of our past suffering, to still experience moments of pure, isolated joy despite all we have been through?

I reach for him again, lacing my fingers through his, hoping my body language is adequate enough to substitute for the words I still lack.

"What has gotten into you, Katniss?" His eyes are wide but dancing with amusement.

"Me? You're the one who wants to tuck me in and whisper 'sweet dreams' with a raging hard-on," I retort.

He laughs again, but when he speaks, his demeanor has changed and his voice has regained all of its previous composure. "You know I've wanted this for a long time."

My body tenses, and the atmosphere in the room shifts back to one of weighted anticipation.

Before he can speak again, before either of us has time to change our minds, I release his hand, extend one arm in the air while gripping the collar of my shirt in the other, and remove my cotton night-shirt in one swift motion.

The morning sun is beginning to filter in through my windows, and a beam of light falls across my left breast. He hasn't said a word nor moved, his gaze frozen on my now bare skin.

"Do you mind closing the curtains?" I ask, snapping him out of his stupor.

He swallows hard. "Yeah, of course." He stumbles to the window, drawing the curtains together and returning the room to its comforting darkness. I'm not really sure what has come over me, and I draw my knees slightly to my chest. He has never seen me like this before. No one has besides my family, my stylists from the Capitol, and the many doctors I encountered in the hospital.

He climbs back into the center of the bed, and motions for me to join him. He cannot take his eyes off of me which both excites and terrifies me. What was I thinking being so bold up until this point? It has been fun to role-play the confident air of a seductress, but the truth remains that I have had no experience with men. He must know that, though. We have never discussed it, but I imagine the fact must be pretty self-evident.

"So you have to tell me, Katniss... is this is a test? Because if so, I'm going to fail."

"No test, I promise."

He is lying down now, propped up by his elbows, watching me. I crawl over to him, drinking in his whole body from head to toe. He is gorgeous and he is mine... all mine. I can feel my need for him building inside of me again. I want to touch him, I want to be touched by him. I'm nervous, yes, but there is no denying how much I desire him right now. The thought of that rugged, muscular body overtaking mine is making my heart race.

The second I reach him, he grabs for my wrists, easily pulling my body on top of his own. I don't have time to think about what comes next, because his lips are once again on mine. He kisses me softly at first, the delicate grazing of his tongue along mine sending an aching longing that resonates down to my core. I rest my hands on his chest, losing myself in his embrace. He reaches for my upper thighs, maneuvering my legs forward so that I am straddling his waist. I instantly feel his hardness, now pressed up directly against my own wetness, and the sensation is a delicious torture as I begin to grind myself against him, anxious to feel more. He lifts his upper body to meet my lips again, and I audibly gasp as I feel his touch on my breasts. He cups the left one, kneading it with his hand while stroking the nipple of the other with his right thumb. When he begins to gently tug at my nipple, I find myself involuntarily moaning into his mouth. I can feel every reaction of his body underneath mine and his manhood throbs with every sound that passes my lips. He gives me a lingering kiss as his left hand now follows suit, stroking and tugging until I am feeling faint with pleasure.

My hands fumble for the buttons of his shirt as our kisses deepen. His hands mercifully leave my breasts alone, wandering along the small of my back, my hips, my upper thighs. I feel myself grow wetter with every new patch of flesh he comes into contact with, this sense of lust so new to me. I finally manage to unbutton his shirt, and he assists me in removing it. I trail my fingers along the smooth, firm skin of his chest, pressing kisses to his collarbone, while my other hand drops to the waistband of his pants.

WIthout warning, he rolls me over onto my back. He kneels on the bed, hovering over me as he unzips his khakis and slides them down his legs.

"Those too," I say, nudging his boxers with my toe.

He stops, opens his mouth as if to say something, but then changes his mind, and next thing I know his boxers are tossed to the floor. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I have to gasp for a burst of air. For the first time I am intimidated, his member thick, pulsating, menacing. He leans over me, and I watch him rolling the waistband of my underwear slowly down, pausing to kiss each new area of skin he unveils. As he pulls it down my legs, he brushes a kiss to my lower lips and I quiver at his touch.

He descends over me, planting a tender kiss on my mouth before leaning in to whisper in my ear. "Tell me what you like."

_What I like?_ I try to comprehend the meaning of his question but my cognition is getting more and more clouded. I can feel his thickness between my thighs, inches away from me, and I'm having trouble concentrating on anything else.

"Huh?" I manage to get out, feeling his wet kisses on my neck, the nudging of his erection into my opening, his hands on my breasts. My head is spinning.

"I want to make you feel good. Tell me how you like it."

I struggle to have cogent thoughts as he nips my earlobe with his teeth. _How I like it? How would I know what I like_? And then it hits me through my heated daze. He thinks I've done this before. Perhaps I've played the part too convincingly after all.

"Peeta, I..." How do I tell him without scaring him off?

He notices the agitation in my voice and stops what he's doing, propping himself over me and gazing intently into my eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Just be gentle, okay?"

Immediately he knows, and I'm surprised at the effect of this knowledge on his face. He looks entirely disconcerted. "You mean you've never...?"

Sensing he's about to move away, I tightly grip both of his forearms. "No. Who do you think I've done this with?"

He shakes his head, but I of course know. Gale. He assumed I had slept with Gale. And I... I had assumed Peeta had never been with anyone else, but it was becoming largely apparent that this theory was also incorrect.

I stare up at him, still trembling from the closeness of his body, wanting to resume where we left off, desperate to leave this conversation behind.

"Do you not want me now?" I sound weak, defeated. I can no longer pretend to be sexy and fearless, because now I understand how truly vulnerable I really am.

He kisses me lightly on the lips. "Of course I do." He kisses me again, longer this time. "But I need you to be sure about this... We don't need to do this now, we can wait."

"I'm sure." He holds my gaze for a few moments longer, as if giving me one more chance to run, but I stare at him steadfastly, determined.

He smiles and the next time our lips touch, we don't break away. His hand lowers to move my legs apart, and his fingers work their way up my wetness with gentle strokes, until he is massaging small circles on my clitoris. I moan into his mouth, the feeling so electrifying, and my lower muscles clench with eagerness.

_He has done this before. More than once._ I banish the thoughts from my head as soon as they appear.

"I'm going to enter you slowly, okay?" He talks in between kisses, his tongue caressing mine with his words.

"Okay."

Without breaking our embrace, I can feel him positioning himself, his tip grazing me and instantly becoming wet.

"Tell me if you need me to stop."

He eases into me slowly, stopping when he is about half-way inside. I gasp at the feeling of my inner walls surrounding his fullness, the throbbing of his hardness inside of me. He pauses for a moment, letting me acclimate to the size of him. He kisses me tenderly, meaningfully, and his hand finds mine, interlocking our fingers.

He pulls out and then thrusts cautiously back in, and this time the length of him disappears fully. I whimper softly at the same time he moans, his face contorted in bliss.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod, and I must look reassuring enough, because he squeezes my hand before continuing. He skillfully moves in and out of me several more times with the same quiet intensity, pausing after each full thrust to kiss me. I am surprised at how good it actually feels, the pain minimal compared to the waves of tingling ectasy washing over me.

I raise my hips to meet him and he begins a more steady, rocking motion, entering me with more consecutive successions. Just when I think I cannot handle any more stimulation, I feel his fingers again on my clitoris, touching me in rhythm with the increasing speed of his thrusts. I'm not sure how long this goes on before I begin to feel light-headed, my muscles stiffening, a pressure building in my lower abdomen, my back arching... I close my eyes and let my head fall back, unaware of what is happening to me, but basking in the sensation of it as he presses down on my clitoris in one last firm circle paired with a sharp thrust and my muscles release around him. I cry out as I feel my insides exploding into a million pieces and for a moment, a white light blinds me from my surroundings. He grabs my legs, lifting them slightly before pounding deeper inside of me. He does this once, twice, and then on the third push, loudly groans as he climaxes inside of me.

He collapses on top of me and we lie still for a moment. My body is still pulsing with the aftershocks of my orgasm when he lifts his head to look at me. He trails his hand over my stomach and up along my side and I shiver from the contact, the sensitivity of my skin so heightened.

"Now you can hold me," I say, a wave of exhaustion passing over me. I can hear him laugh in the distance, but my eyes are beginning to close as I feel him place a blanket on top of me. I turn on my side, wondering how different things will be when we wake up in a few hours, wondering how I can feel so close to him right now when there is so much we still don't know about one another. He thought I'd been with Gale. I thought I would be Peeta's first along with him being mine... But these thoughts are for another time. I wait until I feel Peeta's arms protectively around me before I close my eyes, and immediately fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I am moving as fast I can, thrashing away at branches and bushes as I run, fueled entirely by a mind-numbing fear because I know one false step means they will be right on my heels. A spear soars past the right-side of my head, so close it practically grazes my cheek and I hear a battle cry behind me, "She's got nowhere to go!" The voice is eerily familiar, but I am too panicked to concentrate on why.

Is it true? Do I have nowhere to go? The woods seem to stretch out ahead of me for miles and miles. There must be some trick, some loophole I'm not aware of. I feel myself slowing slightly, discouraged by my enemy's words, and eventually halt altogether. What's the point? I can't run forever and I'm outnumbered, of that I'm sure. What's bothering me the most is that I don't even know who is chasing me...

An arrow sinks into the flesh of my right shoulder and as I fall to the ground, I turn around just in time to see their faces before my attackers close in on me. "No," I try to scream out, but suddenly I'm paralyzed. This can't be.

Gale has his bow and arrow poised, ready to finish me off with a single shot. Finnick holds a spear, his eyes wild with hatred. Prim and my mother run behind them, laughing, cheering on my capture. And Peeta. Peeta stands there with the rest of them, a smug smile on his face.

"You had to know this was coming," Peeta says. "Now wake up."

Wake up? Wake up from what?

"Katniss, it's okay, wake up," Prim says, but she is nodding at Gale, approving the release of his last arrow.

I don't know what to do or say. Not to any of them. And that's when I start screaming.

"Wake up." I become aware of someone roughly shaking me, and my eyes suddenly flutter open. "Katniss, wake up. You're having a nightmare," Peeta says.

It takes me a moment or two to orient myself, to realize I am in my own bed, in my house, that those horrible lucid images of my friends and family hunting me belonged to a bad dream and nothing more.

I clench my eyes shut again, forcing myself to take deep breaths in an effort to calm myself, but it is Peeta's arms wrapped around me, gently rocking me against his chest that eventually does the trick, as my muscles begin to loosen and my heart rate returns to normal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His voice, still groggy with sleep, alerts me back to the present, and for the first time since waking I realize that have no clothes on and neither does he, his bare skin warm against mine as he spoons me from behind. I am glad I'm not facing him as I reach to pull the bed covers over me, needing this moment to gather my thoughts.

"No," I say, memories of last night's events flooding my mind instead.

A strong emotion has taken hold of me that I can't quite place. It's not embarrassment or shame. It's not regret. But it's not exactly contentment either. In many ways last night was everything I could have asked for - after being indecisive for as long as I'd known him, what I'd wanted had suddenly been so clear, the world had disappeared around us and it had just been Peeta and me, the years of tormented need erased as we let our bodies make our decisions for us. It had been passionate and erotic, but at the same I could feel the emotion behind every kiss, every touch. It was not just anybody making love to me but someone who desperately loved me, who put my happiness before his own. Not to mention it had felt incredible. Even now, I could feel the after effects of his presence, my insides sore but achingly satisfied.

But something was holding me back from the joy I knew I should be feeling. For the moment, I could only label it as uncertainty.

Peeta squeezes my body to his, his face buried in my hair, inhaling deeply. I pretend not to notice the pressure of his growing erection against my lower back, although I'm confused by my body's response as I feel myself grow moist and a pang of desire pierce through me.

I crane my head to look at the clock for a distraction. "My god, it's three in the afternoon, we've slept for hours," I say.

"Doesn't seem like we're missing much of a nice day anyway."

He's right. Despite it being the height of the afternoon, the room is oddly dark. Whatever sunlight had begun to filter in through the windows early this morning is gone, and I can hear the rumbling of thunder in the distance.

"How do you feel?" he asks. "You passed out on me last night before I could ask you how it was..."

I blush slightly, recalling how I could barely keep my eyes open following our lovemaking. It had drained all of my energy and made even opening my mouth to say good night seem like too much exertion.

I elbow him playfully. "You know it was good," I say. "I'm not going to feed your ego with flattery."

He laughs, affectionately grazing his lips along my shoulder, before placing a small kiss to the nape of my neck. "I'm glad. If you felt even half of what I felt, I'm glad," he murmurs.

I breathe out heavily at the touch of his lips without intending to, and he jumps at the opportunity, trailing a line of kisses along the side of my neck. I can feel him again on my lower back, pressing urgently into my skin. My thoughts are almost critical of him... really, again? But I have no logical excuse for the way my body is responding either; I arch my neck to give him greater access and move his hand to my breasts, my nipples instantly hardening at the first touch of his fingers.

"Katniss," he sighs, more so to himself than to me. His mouth moves down to my upper back, alternating between kisses and gentle bites, while tweaking my nipples between his fingers, and I find myself gripping the sheets at my waist in an agonizing impatience.

I can feel the cloak of desire beginning to cloud my thoughts as it did this morning. No one has ever had this effect over me... not even Peeta had prior to now. I had almost expected to wake and have the spell be broken, be disgusted with myself for giving myself up to him, with the fact that Peeta was in my bed, but that hadn't happened. No, I wanted him again. Now that I knew the way he could make me feel, I wanted him even more. It was almost perfect, if it weren't for that uncertainty, that unknown that kept creeping in on the edge of my thoughts. Not now, I think. I don't want to know. Not yet.

I turn my body to face him, looking at him for the first time since we have woken up.

"Hey there," he says.

That smile, the sparkle in those blue eyes when he sees me. That hair, always falling in waves across his forehead no matter how many times he brushes it away. His muscular, capable body, that gentle strength that comes across in everything he does or says. I suppose I had always seen these things in him, I just hadn't wanted to acknowledge them, hadn't wanted to further complicate what already felt like a life full of overwhelming responsibility. I wasn't ready for the mental weight of a boy I barely knew announcing on public television that he had loved me since I was a young girl, for all of Panem to see. Finding out later that it was not a strategy to win the Games, that his feelings were all too real, watching his heart visibly break as I told him it hadn't been real for me... It was too much. I was too fragile at the time, too unsure of myself. Now was different. Now I had nothing to lose.

All of this races through my head as I stare back at him, but all I say is, "Hi."

He purses his lips together, as if studying me. "What are you thinking?"

"You first," I say, because he also has been lost in thought.

He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, lingering for a moment on my earlobe, and then sweeping his fingers along my jaw bone, says, "I was thinking that this is the happiest I have ever been in my life."

There it is again - that mental weight. Why, Peeta... why even now when I am beginning to explore my feelings for you must you make me feel so inadequate? Eighteen years on this planet, and this is your happiest moment - lying in bed with me, sleeping the day away. How can I compare, how will I ever be able to return the amount of love he has already so selflessly given to me?

He has enough insight to stop there. "Your turn."

"Can I show you instead?" I ask.

I don't wait for a response, and a low growl escapes him as I form a tight fist around his erection. I have never touched him like this before, and my excitement builds as I begin to slide my hand up and down his shaft.

"Tell me if I'm doing it right," I say as I lean in to press my lips to his. He kisses me eagerly, guiding his hand over mine to establish a slow but steady rhythm to my strokes. He pulls away and groans as I continue to work his pulsing hardness.

"You got it," he says, darting his tongue in my mouth to find mine, his hand sensuously crawling down my body, from my breasts to my stomach, down past my navel.

I feel a jolt as he finds my clit, the sensation almost too sharp as he begins to gingerly finger it.

He notices me squirm. "Too sensitive?"

"Yeah, I think," I say. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he answers, as his fingers make their way back up my torso, lightly tracing my breasts and the tender skin around my nipples.

He pauses our kisses to run his tongue over the surface of my lips, teasingly nipping them with his teeth. "Can I lick you?" he asks, his voice heavy with desire.

"Yes," I say, before I can even make meaning of his words. Anything to feel more of him. I startle slightly as he pulls away from me, spreading my thighs and positioning himself between them. Oh... that kind of licking.

I start to protest but his mouth is already on me, his tongue warm and deliciously rough as he places swirling licks around the source of my wetness and surrounding lips. He works his way up unhurriedly and deliberately, and I let my head fall back to the pillow, my eyes closed, basking in his teasing as he tastes me everywhere but where I find myself craving him the most.

My hips buckle forward as his tongue finally flicks over my clitoris. He presses a few long, firm licks up my slit, before again settling on my clit, his tongue slowly circling it as his hands hold down my thighs. I hear myself moaning before I feel the vibration in my throat, as he licks me over and over again, his swirling tongue increasing speed and pressure. I feel my legs extending, my toes flexing, all control over my body lost.

"I want you," I manage to plead.

He understands without me having to provide further clarification, a perceptiveness I appreciate given the difficulty I'm having in stringing together words. With one last flick of his tongue, he emerges from between my legs, and he is giving me that half smile of his as he licks his lips.

He climbs on top of me, the weight of him pressing me comfortably down into the mattress. He bends down to kiss me just as I feel the pressure of his manhood rip through me. I cry out but bend my knees to feel him even deeper as he pumps himself in and out of me, his breathing becoming heavier as his thrusting becomes more and more urgent.

"Touch yourself, baby," he says, leading my hand down towards my pelvis before leaning towards my chest, taking my breast in his mouth, and sucking hard.

I tentatively lower two of my fingers, copying his broad circular motions from before as he adjusts his movements to mine, creating a dizzying rhythm of pleasure. Between him now licking and sucking my nipple, his hard, thick member tantalizingly entering me over and over again, and my own touch, I succumb to the inevitable.

I grip his chest with my spare hand as my muscles tighten, knowing I'm only moments away. He suddenly raises his mouth to mine, kissing me hard and fast as he grabs my hips, jerking them forward as he slams himself inside of me, going the deepest I have ever felt him. I climax as he does, our sweating bodies entwined as we grasp at each other for support. My ears are ringing and my body is flooded by a warm, tingling relief that I feel spread to my toes and fingers. He pushes into me one last time, his chest heaving, before he stills, his body coming undone as his head drops to rest on my chest.

We lie in silence for several minutes, the only sound in the room our still ragged breathing. He runs his fingers up and down my body, from my collarbone to my knees and back, and I break out in goosebumps everywhere he touches, shuddering at the power of such a light motion.

He lifts his head slowly at first, placing a kiss to my chest, then to my neck, then to my lips. "That was incredible," he says, before adding, "You're incredible."

I don't know what to say, and when I do speak, I've officially ruined the moment. "I'm starving, are you?"

He laughs good-naturedly before pressing a final kiss to my forehead. "Yeah, I am actually. Do you have anything here?"

I nod. "There's a stew of some sort in the fridge that I can heat up, and some bread."

"Sounds good," he says, rolling off of me and getting to his feet. "Do you mind if I take a shower first?"

"Nope, I'll meet you downstairs."

He gives me one last lingering kiss, before disappearing into the room's adjoining bathroom. I wait until I hear the water turn on before I lazily drag myself up and out of bed. I stare at our strewn clothing on the floor and shake my head. How did this happen... twice? But I am smiling as I pick up Peeta's shirt, boxers, and pants, folding them and placing them in a neat pile at the edge of the bed. I throw on a white t-shirt and some jeans before I wander down to the kitchen, feeling ravenous with hunger.

As my body begins to calm and return to normal, my mind unfortunately returns to the same nagging thoughts of earlier. I absent-mindedly place two bowls and spoons on the table and light a flame under the pot from the fridge, sinking into a chair at the table while I wait. My thoughts turn to Peeta and his unexpected sexual prowess... where did he learn to be such an experienced lover? More importantly, with whom did he learn...

I wish I could pretend that it wasn't true, that these had been his first times along with me, but I don't believe my own self-made lie for a second. He never hesitated, he was never unsure of himself or about what to do. The way he touched my body, his movements so effortless... A tight knot is forming in my stomach, as I let myself accept that everything we have just done, he has also done with another.

I don't even notice he has entered the kitchen until he is standing in front of me. He has on the same clothes that he was wearing last night, his shirt hopelessly wrinkled despite my folding attempt.

"Sleepy?" he asks with a smile.

"No, just thinking," I answer quietly, rising to spoon stew into both of our bowls.

We settle down to eat, obviously hungrier than we thought because we devour our first helpings in seconds.

"Guess we worked up an appetite," Peeta says, giving me an exaggerated wink.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You must have a wild imagination," I say as I get up to refill our bowls.

His demeanor turns serious suddenly as his gaze focuses on the open kitchen window, the view of our once busy town decimated in rubble. "I don't think I was fully prepared coming back here... seeing it like this."

"I know what you mean," I say, pausing with a spoonful of stew halfway to my mouth to listen to the howling wind outside, a clap of thunder no more than a few miles away.

"I'd seen footage on television of course. Snow made sure of that. But it looks even worse in person."

"You should have seen it months ago... there were bodies everywhere, in piles on the side of the road. No one had even bothered to clear them away."

He swallows hard at my words, and a flash of pain enters his bright blue eyes. I regret the bluntness of my description instantly, carelessly forgetting that Peeta's family perished here along with the rest of the town.

"When were you back here before this?" he asks.

"The rebels let Gale and I come back not long after I was brought to District 13. I wanted to see it for myself, gather some personal belongings, and they got to film a propaganda piece in return." I shrug, those events seeming like a lifetime ago.

"Gale, huh..." His voice is as biting and nasty as Peeta is capable of being. "Good thing you had him around to protect you."

I frown, giving him a questioning, disapproving look. He looks embarrassed, almost as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud without meaning to, and stares back down at his bowl.

"Gale helped save you," I remind him. "I would have gone myself, but they wouldn't let me."

"Yeah, I know," he says, but there is a bitterness to his voice that rubs me the wrong way.

His jealousy of Gale seemed more justified in the past, but what did it matter to him now? Gale was long gone, and we had never been together the way Peeta and I had just been. Peeta, on the other hand, had obviously had another lover.

Up until this point I had tried to ignore my gnawing curiosity, but his immature reaction to the mention of Gale's name makes me vengefully change my mind.

Before I can think twice about it, I say the words. "Peeta, who else have you been with?"

It's his turn to be startled. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"You know what I mean. You were my first just now, but I wasn't yours."

His complexion noticeably pales at my words, but he stares back at me, steadfastly. When he speaks, his voice is calm. "What does it matter, Katniss?"

His answer catches me off guard. I hesitate for a moment before saying, "Now that we've been intimate, I think I have the right to know who your previous partners have been."

"Partner," he corrects me. "Listen, I'll tell you anything you want to know, I just don't see what good will come of it. You're the only person in this world that matters to me, you know that."

He takes my hand from across the table, caressing my fingers with his thumb.

It's not that I don't believe his words, because I do, but I unfortunately have never been the type of person who could let questions go unanswered. He is stalling telling me, and I can feel the knot in my stomach tighten as my nerves begin to get the better of me. It must be someone I know, I think.

"Please, just tell me. I'm not going to be angry."

He looks at me for what feels like an eternity before he answers, and the moment he does, I immediately wish I had taken his suggestion and left this stone unturned.

"It was Madge," he says.

I inhale sharply, the name so unexpected coming from his lips. Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter, the girl who gave me the mockingjay pin which would eventually become the symbol of the rebellion, one of the only friends that I had ever known.

"How..." is all I can manage to get out, a hot wave of jealousy beginning to course through my veins. The three of us had been in the same class at school since we were little, but I had never known Peeta and Madge were even particularly good friends, let alone anything beyond that.

"It was after we returned from the first Games. She reached out to me when no one else really did, and we started to hang out more and more." He pauses, obviously uncomfortable. "Katniss, I don't really know what you want me to say..."

I don't know what I want him to say either, but I do know that the information he has given me so far has been inadequate. I wait him out, refusing to let him off the hook so easily.

"That was a hard time for me," he continues, a defensive tone entering his voice. "I was depressed. I was isolated. She was the only friend I had."

"And what a friend she was," I retort snidely. "How long did this go on?"

He runs his hand nervously through his hair. "I don't know, four or five months... We ended things a month or so before the Victory tour."

"And you were sleeping together the whole time?" I ask, becoming a masochist for details, even as every new revelation makes me more and more nauseous.

"Most of it, yes." He sighs. "Katniss, please. Don't punish me for this."

But that's exactly what I feel like doing. Punishing him, making him hurt the way I am hurting right now. Part of me knows I'm being unjust, but I cannot think rationally at the moment.

"What I don't understand is why neither of you ever told me. I understand you weren't mine to claim, but this was clearly a well-kept secret."

"Honestly, I thought she had told you. I knew you were friends and hung out from time to time. I just assumed you didn't care one way or the other. It wasn't until months after it was over that I realized she never had."

There is something about the earnest way with which he talks that reassures me that he is being honest. Even so, the truth still hurts. More so than I ever imagined it would.

"Why wouldn't she have told me..." I am talking more to myself than to him, racking my memory for any conversation I may have had with her that I may have overlooked at the time.

There was one. Soon after we had returned to District 12 from the Games, I had just finished settling my family into our new house in the Victor's Village, when she had stopped by with a housewarming gift. We were sitting in the living room catching up.

"It was really something watching you and Peeta on tv," she had said. "It was so romantic the way you fought to stay together, like Romeo and Juliet."

I had rolled my eyes, causing her to laugh. "It was all for show, Madge," I had said. "We knew it was our best chance to stay alive, to get sponsers."

"So you really don't have feelings for him? You aren't going to continue to see him now that you're back? He really is so handsome, Katniss." Now that I think of it, her eyes had been wide, imploring, her demand for an answer a little too eager.

"Definitely not," I had said. "To be honest I just want to put all memories of the Games behind me and never look back."

The deafening sound of thunder outside snaps my attention back to reality. The sky opens up and sheets of rain begin to pour down as I turn to Peeta. "I suppose she did ask me how I felt about you," I say. "But she never told me about the two of you, that I'm sure of. I would have remembered that."

" I think..." He stops, and a look of guilt shadows his face. "I think her feelings for me may have been stronger than my feelings were for her. I was never dishonest with her - she knew I was in love with you, that I cared about her only as a friend, but she seemed to want to ignore that sometimes. She told me she loved me once..."

A scowl crosses my face. "You were fucking her, Peeta, what do you expect? She obviously wanted something more from you."

"I know, I felt terrible about it," he says with a grimace. "That's why I ended things."

"So she didn't tell me because she was secretly in love with you and knew it was really me you had feelings for, fine. But you never told me either. Why?"

His eyes darken with anger and he practically glares at me. "When was I supposed to tell you, Katniss? You ignored my very existence after we returned from the Games that year. You wouldn't even look at me if we passed each other on the streets, like I was a complete stranger."

I avert my eyes from him now, knowing this is true. I did avoid him. "I'm sorry about that," I mumble. "I was confused, Peeta."

"Well, I was confused too," he says, his voice rising in intensity. "Do you know much you hurt me? Do you have any idea?"

I continue to refuse to look at him, a lump forming in my throat. He reaches for my hand again, softening. "Katniss, I would never intentionally hurt you. You have to understand that for a long time, I was convinced I meant nothing to you at all."

I nod, and suddenly the fight has left both of us as the room falls silent. He squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.

"Come here," he says, tugging at me slightly. I get up, walking the few short feet over to his chair, and without protest let him scoop me onto his lap. My arms wrap around his neck and I rest my head against his chest, closing my eyes and focusing only on the fact that he is holding me.

This is all that matters, I think. Being with him now. The news of him and Madge still upsets me, I know that I will have more questions, that there will be more hurt feelings, but for now, this is enough. The poor girl is gone, after all, it seems almost disrespectful to be thinking ill of her like this.

The phone rings and I make no movement to answer it. It has been ringing for weeks, usually around this time in the evening, but I have always ignored it, not wanting to talk to anyone.

He rests his chin on my head. "You're going to have to start answering that. Dr. Aurelius told me to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever - you have to pick up the phone."

I sigh into his chest. "He usually tries a few times a night. I'll answer the next time."

"Good," he says, placing a kiss to the top of my head. "The rain's lightened up. I was thinking about running over to my house and grabbing some fresh clothes. That is, as long as you still want me here."

"I do," I say, hugging his body to mine, before getting to my feet.

I bring the dishes to the sink before walking him to the front door.

"Be back in a bit," he says, giving me a quick kiss and disappearing onto the foggy road that leads to his house.

I am about to make my way back into the kitchen to wash the dishes, when the shrill sound of the phone makes me jump.

Jeez, again? Usually the doctor waits longer than this to make a second attempt; he must be getting impatient. I make my way to the parlor room where the phone is, deciding I should probably get this therapy session over with. I can picture Dr. Aurelius's calm but stern reprimands as soon as I answer.

"Hello? Katniss speaking."

My mouth drops open as I recognize the voice of the person on the other line. It's not Dr. Aurelius after all. In fact it's one of the last people I would expect to be calling right now.

"Katniss, it's me. You never answer your phone, do you? Listen, I don't have much time to talk, but I need to see you. I'm arriving in District 12 late tomorrow evening. We need to talk."

"Okay," I say, finding my voice. "Call me when you're here I guess."

I replace the phone on the charger slowly, my heart pounding. Gale is coming back to District 12.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I wake up before Peeta does the next morning, the bright sunlight streaming through the windows a stark contrast to yesterday's storms. A brand new day, but I find myself anxious at the possibilities that a day like today might bring.

I lift Peeta's arm, heavily draped around my waist and turn to face him. He stirs slightly from the movement, but remains deep in sleep, his brows furrowed and his mouth a grim, straight line. I wonder if he is having a bad dream, if I should wake him, but decide he needs the sleep and leave him be.

Peeta Mellark, what have you done to me... I nestle myself closer to his body, inhaling his scent - a mixture of the body wash he used in the shower yesterday and sweat, but to me it's intoxicating. I have to resist all urges of waking him simply so I can tear his clothes off and climb on top of him. I raise an inner eyebrow at myself... really, what has come over me?

Last night Peeta had returned from his house with a small suitcase of clothes, a sheepish look on his face when I opened the door. "Don't worry, I'm not moving in," he had said. But part of me wouldn't have cared if he had brought a truckload of boxes with him, all I cared about was that he was there, that we were going to face the night together.

We hadn't gone to bed right away, neither of us very tired considering we had slept so late into the afternoon, so instead we sat in the living room, watching tv and talking for hours. His arm securely around me, his lips frequenting my neck and face for random kisses as we spoke. The both of us smiling and laughing, as if we had never experienced real sadness or tragedy, as if we had never cried ourselves to sleep or wished we weren't alive to feel these things at all.

I hadn't told him about Gale calling. I would, of course, but it wasn't the right moment. We had already had one heated discussion about him and Madge that afternoon, we didn't need to have another, not yet. I feel almost guilty as I look at him now that I gave him as hard of a time as I had yesterday... Madge is dead, perhaps a flawed friend, but gone now. Gale, however, is very much alive.

_What did Gale want anyway?_ I frown to myself. The last time I saw him was right before I walked out to execute Snow. He had handed me a bow and arrow, telling me I wouldn't miss, even as I had begun to decide it would not be Snow I was aiming for. I close my eyes as I realize the thought of Gale is now irreversibly tied to some of my darkest memories... the explosion outside Snow's mansion, watching my sister get blown to pieces before I myself was hurled into the air, landing in a heap on the concrete, experiencing the most intense physical and emotional pain I had ever known.

I had asked him if the bomb was one of his, one of the deadly weapons he had constructed with Beetee in the laboratories of District 13. He had said he didn't know, but I knew. I knew he knew it too, as the possibility of anything more between us officially keeled over and died. He would always mean something to me; he had been my first love, the only person I had ever truly trusted, the one who unfailingly looked over my family and me, caring for us as if we were his own blood. I had always thought if I had ever married anyone, it would be him. We were unstoppable together, the ultimate team. But war had changed him...

Peeta stirs again and now his teeth are gritted together, his fists clenched. I begin to move cautiously away from him, fully aware that our renewed intimacy should not quell me into a false sense of security. We had a good day together yesterday, but I am not a fool. I know Peeta is still unwell.

I wait until I am out of his grasp before I attempt to wake him. "Peeta," I say loudly. "Peeta, wake up."

He bolts up in bed at the sound of my voice, his eyes manic and and distant, the chest of his t-shirt drenched in sweat.

I am frightened but alert, my senses sharp the way they would be if I was hunting... or being hunted. I place a poised foot on the floor, ready to jump, to run if I have to. He looks at me and he is not himself, but I can tell he is taking great pains to restrain himself. His muscles are tense and strained, his hands clutch at the night table beside him until his knuckles turn white.

"Do you want me to leave?" I try to ask as calmly as I can.

He shakes his head no as he clamps his eyes shut, and bites down hard on his lower lip. It's agonizing to watch him like this, but for some reason I can't tear my eyes away, feeling like I need to see this, to know this side of him. His body shakes and his hands have now moved from the table to the flesh of his legs. He digs his nails into his skin, and the self-inflicted pain seems to alleviate some of his suffering. Minutes of this pass by before I can tell the flashbacks have subsided. His body slumps forward and he buries his face in his hands.

I settle myself back on the bed and wrap my arms around him from behind, knowing somehow that it is safe to touch him.

"I'm so sorry." He chokes out his words, and I can feel his body still trembling against mine.

"It's okay," I murmur, holding him tighter, resting my head on his shoulder.

I sneer at my thoughts from earlier, of wanting to roughly wake him, imagining a passionate embrace as I straddled his waist. How naive of me to think that way, like we were a normal couple, like we weren't broken.

He gently detaches my arms from around him, turning so he is facing me. He takes my face in his hands, studying me thoughtfully. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"I'm fine, you never even touched me... but I could see how much pain you were in."

"It was a really bad flashback," he says. "The worst I've had in awhile. We were back in the Games... you had a knife to my throat." He shakes his head. "I understand if you don't feel safe sleeping with me anymore."

"Shhh..." I soothe him, placing a soft kiss to his lips. "You felt it coming, you were able to control it, just like you told me you would."

He nods weakly, but his eyes are unsure, which makes me unsure in return. It took everything he had to hold himself back just now, I could see that. What if there were worse, more violent flashbacks than whatever he had just experienced? Would he be able to curb himself then? The thought was sobering and not something I could freely explore at the moment.

"I was thinking about going into the woods today," I tell him, absentmindedly stroking his arm. "I haven't been hunting in a couple of days and we're running out of food. I promised I'd bring some to Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. I'll catch something for dinner tonight."

"Okay," he says, the color returning to his face. "I can bake something, see if I can get my house into some kind of working order..."

This is reality, I think. Not lying in bed all day, making love. We have that side to us, yes, but the rest of the time we are two mad people, desperately needing busy work, a schedule to keep us focused and stable.

He takes my hands, pulling my mouth to his. Once, twice, the third kiss stirring the deepest parts of me. "I've ruined this morning for us," he says. "I wanted to wake up and make you come. Instead I scared you half to death."

I laugh. "Later," I say. I kiss him, luring his tongue into my mouth before grabbing hold of it and sucking on it hard.

"Fuck dinner tonight, we don't need to eat," he says, reaching for the waistband of my shorts, but I press my palm firmly to his chest to stop him.

"Later... I promise it will be worth the wait." Borrowing his move from yesterday, I trace my tongue around the outline of his lips.

His eyes widen and I don't need to look to know he is hard at the very thought of it. "I need a cold shower," he announces.

"Yes, you do. You can take the bathroom up here, I'll go downstairs. Meet you in twenty for breakfast."

We shower, eat a quick breakfast, and then go our separate ways. He's decided he's going to stop in on Haymitch, even though I told him that sounds like a wasted morning, while I head off to the woods, eager to get back into a hunting routine. We agree to meet back at my house around five so we can get dinner started.

I still haven't mentioned Gale. I couldn't bear to do it, not after he had one of his episodes like that. For all I know hearing his name would have pushed Peeta over the edge.

I end up having a somewhat successful hunting day - enough rabbits and squirrels to hand over to Greasy Sae and even Haymitch if I'm feeling generous, while still having enough to last me for a week or so. I know I could have caught more if I had been less preoccupied, though.

The thought of Gale coming back here is making me sick with nerves. For one thing, I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I would probably never talk to or see him again. It had felt strange at first, but I had gotten used to the idea, had grown to accept it as part of my new life, a life removed from the people I had once loved. After all, our relationship had been steadily disintegrating for the better part of a year. Ironically we had spent more time together than ever before in District 13, but somehow the closer we got, the more I struggled to understand him, like he was a different person from the one I had known in District 12.

The more I think about it, however, I realize it wasn't necessarily that the rebellion had changed Gale, but more so that he finally got the opportunity to become the person he had always wanted to be - a warrior, someone who could fight fire with fire, who could physically defend his ideals and beliefs - with whatever means necessary. I had thought at one point in time that I was that kind of person too.

Maybe it was me who had changed... Or maybe it had been _somebody_ who had changed me, showed me a new way of thinking, a different way to rebel.

Despite all of the baggage that comes with Peeta, I feel a deeper understanding between us, a potential for a long-lasting love worth fighting for. But is the thought of us starting a life together even a realistic one? I shudder at the thought of his crazed eyes this morning, the way he had to restrain himself - restrain himself from his compulsion to hurt me. How could I seriously consider being with someone when I knew it would mean putting myself in serious danger day in and day out?

When I walk into my house, Peeta is already there, sitting on the living room couch, a drawing pad in his lap. The smell of freshly baked goods fills the house, and I notice he has even tidied up the place a little. There's no way the kitchen or living room was this sparkling clean the way I left it.

"I thought you were supposed to be getting your house in order, not mine," I say. "Although I appreciate the gesture."

Before I can even place my bag of game onto the table, Peeta flies into the room, lifting me up into his arms and twirling me around.

I can't help but laugh, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. "Let me down, you lunatic. What is all this about?"

He carries me closer to the table so I can drop my bag before grabbing my behind and forcing my legs to wrap around his waist. "I missed you like crazy today," he says, pressing a long kiss to my lips.

"See, I knew you were crazy," I say, but I can't help kissing him back, his enthusiasm an undeniable turn-on.

"Do we have to cook yet?" he asks, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Or can I take you upstairs?"

"I am hungry."

"Me too," he says with a smirk, before leading us out of the kitchen. I snake my arms tightly around his neck as he carries me up the stairs, feeling weightless in his strong arms.

He lays me carefully down at the foot of the bed, removing my boots and socks, then rolling my jeans down my legs, letting them fall to the floor. He offers me his hands and I take them as he pulls me to a sitting position. I watch him with heated anticipation as he lifts my arms one at a time, pausing to kiss his way up from my elbows to my neck on each side, before lifting my shirt up and over my head. I feel myself begin to tremble even before he touches me again. He is moving excruciatingly slow, reaching behind my back to unhook my bra, leaning close so that I can feel his warm breath on my neck, as my bra falls to my lap and his hands replace it.

"Peeta, I did want to tell you something." I end up sighing the words as he nibbles on my neck, not sounding nearly as convincing as I'd intended.

"Is it more important than this?" he asks, and his hand drops to the crotch of my panties, stroking me through the fabric. Reflexively, I spread my legs for him, and he slips one finger underneath them, feeling my excitement. "You're so wet already."

"It can wait," I say. Gale is the last thing I want on my mind right now.

I inhale sharply as he inserts his index finger inside of me, his thumb flexing up to touch my clit. He increases the pressure with a second finger, and I can feel my muscles clench around him as he deftly moves his fingers in and out. I moan at every flick of his thumb, wondering how he can make my body feel this good again and again. What once were tiny kisses and nips along my neck are now ravenous mouthfuls, his teeth grazing me as he sucks forcefully on the delicate flesh, pausing intermittently to press gentle kisses. There's a twinge of pain, but somehow it feels electrifying paired with the courses of pleasure already shooting throughout my body.

I reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up, and he pauses his multi-tasking to help me remove it. Before his shirt has even touched the floor, my fingers are unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, practically yanking them down his legs. I think I catch him off guard as I pull his boxers down just as determinedly. He steps out of them, kicking them to the side, and now there is no barrier left as he stands before me, exposed but commanding.

I am overcome with a desire to touch him everywhere, to claim each part of him as mine. My hands flutter across his chest, his abdomen, the small of his back, his ass. I kiss his navel, the hair that trails down his pelvis, the muscles of his thighs. I admire the toughness of his body, every scar, press kisses to every discoloration. This body is like my own - battered but resilient, broken but rebuilt. I examine it like I would examine my own in the mirror before dressing, critical but ultimately approving, accepting full ownership.

I know what I want to do before I even understand why, allowing myself only a few seconds of shyness before I bring my mouth to his manhood. I kiss up and down his shaft, his erection straining further towards me with every touch of my lips. His skin is smooth and surprisingly soft despite its underlying hardness. When I take the tip of him in my mouth, he groans, and I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. A wave of self-consciousness momentarily washes over me - after all, I have no clue what I'm doing, but I continue to slide the length of him into my mouth, sucking on him the way I sucked on his tongue earlier this morning, and I gain confidence with every moan he utters.

I pause to lick him with steady strokes, slowly and purposefully, swirling my tongue around the head and then working my way down to the base of him. He tangles his hands in the hair that falls loosely around my shoulders, his breathing heavy, and I know he is holding himself back from thrusting his hips forward. I give him what he wants, grabbing him from behind and pulling him deep into my mouth until I can feel him hit the back of my throat and then to the front again, flicking my tongue across the head of his throbbing erection. He groans, pulling on my hair a little, which only makes me suck harder.

I am oddly enjoying myself, loving that he is writhing with pleasure, that I can make him feel as good as he has made me feel, despite the difference in our experience levels.

After several minutes, he begins involuntarily flexing his hips forward, his body tensing under my hands. He grips my shoulders suddenly, pulling away from me, before wordlessly lowering me down onto the bed. "I'm not gonna last if you keep going like that," he says. "That felt amazing."

I can't help but smile to myself at a job well done as he peels my underwear off. He grabs me by the ankles, pulling me to the edge of the bed, before kneeling down in front of me. Unlike his slow pace of yesterday, he begins to lick me furiously, his tongue lapping up, down, and around my clitoris in broad, pressured strokes. I hadn't realized how turned on I was just from sucking him until now, but after only a minute or so of him licking me, I can't take it anymore, I am begging him to stop, not wanting to give in just yet.

His body hovers over mine, but before he can pin me beneath him, I agilely slip out from underneath, push him into a sitting position, and straddle his waist.

He smiles at me, amused, and cups my breasts in his hands, kneading them roughly as his mouth attacks mine. Our kisses are long and hard and desperate. I grind against him, every contact between us bringing me one step closer.

"I need you," he says gruffly, and not waiting for confirmation, lifts me up and down onto his waiting manhood. I gasp at how deep he feels, digging my nails into the flesh of his shoulders.

We move together, synchronized but urgent, both of us about to burst. He thrusts up, his hands on my hips, rocking me back and forth, up and down. I move to touch myself and recognize the now-familiar pressured build-up, the need for release.

"I'm gonna come," I announce breathlessly, arching my back and feeling him slide even deeper.

He thrusts up, hard, and I feel myself tightening, squeezing his member as I ride him. My head falls back, my mouth open as I come undone, and in this position I can feel every powerful contraction around him, feel him twitching inside of me as he shortly follows, his hands gripping my hips, guiding me up and forcibly down on him one last time before he explodes inside of me.

His arms encircle me, and we sit there, not bothering to move an inch, basking in the afterglow of our orgasms. He kisses me, and even this slight touch sends shock waves down my arms, my legs, to my center. I lightly trail my fingers along his back and he flinches in response as if I had been holding ice, his skin so hypersensitive. I can still feel him inside of me, and I ache around him, but it's a good ache, a satisfied ache.

Our eyes meet and I all of a sudden feel an overwhelming guilt. I need to tell him about Gale. Once again this is not an ideal moment, but the idea of hiding things from him is becoming more and more repulsive to me.

"Peeta," I say, moving to hug his body to mine.

"Yeah, babe?" His arms are so comforting and strong.

"I'm so glad you came back."

"Me too," he murmurs, running his hand through my hair, "But I was always coming back here. I don't belong anywhere else."

"You belong with me," I say, shocking myself with the boldness of my words, with the intensity of my feelings for him right now as I clutch him closer to me, resting my head to his chest.

He bends down to kiss the top of my head, but his next words are the furthest thing from what I expect to hear.

"When are you going to tell me about Gale?"

I freeze. My heart seems to stop for a second, but then resumes with a hammering fervency. I can't bear to look at him and I resolve to stay hidden against his chest until he pushes me away. But he doesn't let go, if anything his arms strengthen around me.

"How do you know about that?" I finally ask.

"Despite being drunk and unconscious 75% of the time, Haymitch still manages to stay surprisingly up-to-date with his gossip. Evidently he's still in close contact with the rebel forces. He spoke to someone in District 2 yesterday and found out Gale is arriving here tonight. He told me when I went over there this morning. He's still looking out for me, I guess..."

Peeta must hate me. Having to find out about Gale from Haymitch of all people and not me. I feel so small, so unworthy. He would never keep something like this from me. I had thought we could start over, that I could treat him the way he deserved to be treated this time, but here we were, only two days in, and I was already hurting him.

"I knew it wasn't Dr. Aurelius that called last night," he continues. "You were so nervous when I asked if you had spoken to him... I knew it had to be somebody else. When I talked to Haymitch this morning, it all made sense. I figured it had to have been Gale, that he had called to tell you he was coming here."

"Peeta, I'm sorry," I say, breaking away to look at him. He doesn't look angry, his expression is calm and cool, but somehow this frightens me more. "I was going to tell you, I just couldn't find the right time. I didn't want to upset you."

"What do you think he wants?" He frowns now, looking away as if he doesn't want me to see the dull pain enter his eyes.

"I really don't know," I answer honestly. "The phone rang, he told me he was coming here, that we needed to talk, and that was all."

He nods, and I feel a sharp pang in my chest. What if he doesn't believe me? What if he thinks something more is going on, that I knew about Gale coming prior to that phone call last night? The thought of him not trusting me makes me feel sick to my stomach, but at the same time, how could I blame him?

"According to Haymitch, his shuttle arrives at nine."

We both look at the clock. Quarter to seven.

"I'm sure he'll call you as soon as he gets in," Peeta says quietly. His hand has returned to the nape of my neck, soothingly running it through my hair.

"Will you stay with me when he comes?" I ask. "Whatever he has to say, he can say in front of both of us."

"Sure," he says, but there is an uncertainty to his voice. He isn't ready to let his guard down just yet, and I can't say I don't understand why. After all, I can only afford to be so confident in my words now because I haven't seen Gale yet. I haven't been in the same room alone with them, face to face with all of the feelings, all of the emotions I have ever had for the two of them.

"We could have a late dinner. I could invite him over if he calls," I say.

"Sounds like a plan."

"Peeta." I take his hand, imploring him to look at me. "I really am sorry for not telling you, but you have nothing to worry about."

"I'm sorry too," he says, and a ghost of a smile plays on his lips as he brushes his finger along the side of my neck.

"For what?" I ask, confused.

"For your neck," he says, gently lifting me off of his lap, getting to his feet, and disappearing into the bathroom.

I scramble up and over to the mirror, my eyes widening as I see the dark purple bruise from where he had been kissing me. I glare at the closed door of the bathroom. He had known Gale was coming, and he had done this on purpose.

I dress quickly, tying my long hair into a haphazard braid down my back. I take a deep breath as I catch my reflection once more in the mirror._ Better get ready, Katniss_, I mentally prep myself._ In two hours, you're about to attend the most awkward dinner party of your life._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Peeta's voice sounds distant and muffled, as if I'm swimming underwater and he's on the surface, obliviously attempting to talk to me. _What did he say_? I try to take an educated guess based on context so that I don't have to reveal that I wasn't listening, but in the end, I give up.

"Hmm?" I stop to look at him, and realize I have been pacing the floor of my kitchen. Back and forth, over and over again, twisting my hands, playing the convincing part of a mental patient.

"I said you're making me nervous," he says. "Will you please sit down?"

"Sorry," I mumble, collapsing into the chair next to him at the table with a sigh.

It's five to nine. Everything is ready. The table is set with three sets of plates, forks, knives, napkins, and glasses. Peeta's rabbit dish is staying heated in the oven, freshly baked bread and butter are on the counter, the broccoli just needs to be quickly boiled when he calls.

Peeta takes my hand, pressing it firmly between his. "I don't know why you're worried. He's the one who's gonna shit himself when he finds out he's come all this way to have dinner with me."

I stifle a laugh, but manage to give him a warning glance. "Be good."

"You know I will be," he says with a shrug. "It might get a little uncomfortable if he's come to confess his undying love for you, but I'll do my best."

I groan. "God, I hope not."

"Why? Because it will be annoying or because you're afraid how it will make you feel if he does?" His question starts off in a joking manner, but by the end of it, the light has left his eyes. He looks away, and I know that this is harder for him than he is willing to admit. He is trying to make the the best of the situation, to act unaffected, but I see the way he keeps anxiously tapping his foot under the table, the stoic thoughtfulness when he thinks I'm not looking.

I nearly jump to my feet at the sound of the phone. Is all this adrenaline purely nerves or does part of me want to see Gale? It's so hard to think about this clearly. I can't with Peeta here. When I look at him, all of my emotions for him cloud my thoughts. I start to think about his arms around me, the way he kisses my body up and down, the feel of his bare skin against mine... it's impossible to concentrate.

I take a deep breath and pick up the receiver on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," answers Gale's deep voice. "I just landed. Should I head over to you?"

"Yeah, sure. Peeta and I made dinner. We waited for you."

Silence on the other end of the line. Dead silence. It seems to go on and on. I almost think he has hung up, but then I hear the faint sound of his breathing. I know it was a cheap shot - dropping Peeta's name so casually like that, but I thought it would have been worse for Gale to show up and have the surprise of seeing him in person. Still, I could have broken it to him more tactfully._ I'm awful at this_, I think. _I wasn't meant for this kind of drama_.

"What an unexpected surprise," he says dryly. "Be there soon."

I bite my lip as I hang up the phone. This is already going terribly, and he hasn't even physically arrived yet.

"Well," I announce, entering the kitchen. "He knows you're here."

"And I'm sure he's thrilled." Peeta's eyes circle the room for a moment. "Do you have any wine or alcohol of any sort for that matter? I think I'm gonna need it."

I roll my eyes, but gesture to one of the upper cabinets. "There are some bottles I tucked away that people used to bring my mother as payment. Most of it is wine I think, but you're welcome to it."

"Look at this untouched liquor cabinet," he says, as he swings open the door. "Haymitch would be ashamed."

"I'll bet," I mumble. "Guess you could pour me a glass too."

I take my first sip as I hear the knock at the door. It's showtime. I make sure my hair is tucked tightly on the left side of my head, my thick braid successfully covering the hickey Peeta so graciously gave me earlier. I would have worn a scarf if I owned one, but I don't, so this will have to do.

I walk with my glass in hand to the front of the house, hoping it will make me look more at ease, grateful that Peeta has the common sense to stay back._ It's like you're a hostess at a dinner party_, I tell myself,_ entertaining two of your closest friends. No big dea_l. Yes, no big deal, except they have both at one point confessed they were in love with me, I have never reciprocated that sentiment to either of them, I am currently having sex with one of them, and I am irrationally estranged from the other. Somewhat of a big deal.

When I open the door and see Gale, I pause for a moment, taken aback. There was never any question that he was a good-looking guy, but for the first time I feel like I am seeing him the way the other girls in our district always had. He truly is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome with that lean frame, straight black hair, and captivating gray eyes. I guess I had never needed to notice him before - not when we spent the majority of our days together hunting or even in the tumultuous world of planning the rebellion in 13. But at this point it has been months and months seen I have last seen him. It has recently even become more effortful to visualize him in my memory, something off about his nose or chin when I close my eyes.

There is a hardness to his expression at first, but he softens at the sight of me, a familiar smile forming on his lips. I can tell he wants to hug me, but instead he leans in to press a hasty kiss to my cheek. It feels strange and impersonal, and I find myself both disappointed and relieved.

"You look good. Well, I mean," he says as he steps inside. "How have you been feeling?"

"Better," I say. It's true, I have been feeling better these past couple of days. Ever since Peeta has been back... "How was your flight?"

"A little long, but I'm getting used to these trips... Plutarch has been keeping me busy."

I raise my eyebrows. "Are you here on business too?"

"No," he says as his hand finds the small of my back. "I told them I had something personal I had to take care of." His body is uncomfortably close to my own, and unlike the bated anticipation I felt when Peeta and I first got this close, I don't like it. Maybe it's because of the circumstances - the fact that Peeta is just down the hall, waiting for us. Or maybe it's because ever since Gale set foot in my house a coldness has come over me, as if I'd opened my door not only to him but to all of the skeletons of my past.

I step awkwardly out of his reach. "I hope you're hungry. You must be after your trip."

I lead him into the kitchen and Peeta rises to his feet as we enter the room.

"Gale," he nods, offering his hand. "Good to see you."

"Peeta," Gale says, his tone crisp, as they roughly shake hands.

I move to open the oven, but Peeta's hand covers mine. "Sit down, I got it."

"Okay," I say, catching a glimpse of Gale just in time to see him look away. I take a seat and Gale slides into the chair next to mine, dropping his bag to the floor.

"Gale, would you like some wine?" Peeta asks, as he brings the rabbit dish to the table, placing it delicately on pot holders in the center.

"No, I'm fine," he says, and while Peeta is still standing, turns to me. "Katniss, I'll have some water if you don't mind."

"Of course," I mumble, taking his glass to the sink.

Peeta sinks slowly into his chair, as he pours himself another glass instead. Gale is not going to make this easy. The two have always been civil to one another in the past, but I suppose it can only be expected that this time might be different. Gale has come to talk to me, and instead Peeta is here, offering Gale drinks as if he lives here. I can see why this would rub Gale the wrong way.

I try to inject a dose of cheerfulness in my voice as I hand Gale his glass and take a seat back down, "So, tell us how you've been. What have you been up to in District 2? That is where you've been, right?" I motion for him to give me his plate as I begin dishing out the rabbit. It's become clear that I must play the sole role of hostess if there is any hope of maintaining peace.

"Mostly," Gale says. "But like I said, I've been traveling around a lot, overseeing some of the reconstruction projects President Paylor has in effect. The districts are far from recovered, there's a lot of work to be done still."

"Well, we know that," I say, motioning to the world outside the kitchen walls. "It's hard to imagine this place will ever be up and running again."

"It will," Gale says, with an air of confidence. "Districts 2, 3, and 4 are already well on their way. People are back to work, the buildings are being rebuilt, the schools are back in session. It will take a little longer to get to 12 considering the scarcity of people here, but soon enough we will be here, fixing it up. It will be back to normal in no time."

Back to normal? Did he really just say that? I steal a glance in Peeta's direction, and he has the same expression on his face that I do, one of disbelief. Twelve might be rebuilt, yes, but to ever imply that it could be the same sounded so insensitive, so removed. How could it be the same when over half of the people who lived here had perished?

I take a big gulp of my wine, finishing off the glass and handing it to Peeta for a refill. What I had feared about Gale seemed well on its way to being verified - he was one of them now, not one of us.

Gale seems to notice the effect of his words, and knows it is best to change the subject. "The rabbit is excellent by the way. And fresh. I can tell you just caught it today."

"I did, but Peeta's the one who cooked it," I say, looking over at Peeta with a smile. "It is delicious."

"Thanks," he says. "It's a dish my father used to make. His favorite, actually."

Gale turns to me again, as if Peeta hadn't spoken. "Was it a good hunting day?"

I shrug. "Decent enough considering I'm still getting back into the swing of it. I even saw a deer around our old meeting spot. Could have had it too, but decided against it. I wouldn't have been able to carry it back myself anyway."

"I could go with you tomorrow, see if we could track it down."

"Maybe," I say softly.

Peeta pours himself another glass. Is this is his second or third? I can't blame him though, he must want to be anywhere but here right now. Gale follows my gaze to look at him.

"Peeta, how long have you been back in 12?" he asks, his eyes narrowing in on his counterpart, seated directly opposite him at the table.

"Only a few days," Peeta answers, before lifting a forkful of rabbit to his mouth. I can tell he is trying to say as little as possible, to stay true to his word that he wouldn't stir up any trouble.

Gale waits patiently, in silence, until Peeta has finished chewing and swallowing his food, before asking his next question. "And what were you doing before this?"

"Being held captive in the Capitol," he says with a faint smirk. "They didn't want to release me until they thought I was well enough."

"Are you? Well enough, I mean."

"I'm much better, thank you," Peeta answers quietly, taking a sip of his wine.

Gale's questions continue, pointed and invasive. "And it's safe for you to be around Katniss? How did they determine that?"

Peeta grips his glass more tightly as he forces himself to take another sip rather than speak. I feel helpless and utterly ineffectual as I sit here, wondering what I can say to alleviate the situation without choosing sides and making things worse.

"Not really sure that's any of your business," Peeta says coolly.

"You don't need to be restrained anymore?" There is an unmistakably condescending tone to Gale's voice.

Peeta's nostrils flare slightly as his eyes finally make contact with Gale's. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

The tension in the room is palpable and I find myself squirming in my seat. Why does it have to be like this? We used to all be able to talk, to joke, to hang out together. Looking back, however, it was only because we had a common goal: to get ready for the rebellion, to train, to fight. The only thing they have in common now is me, and I am evidently not something they want to share.

Suddenly, I feel angry, as I stab a piece of broccoli with my fork. I'm a human being, not some prize to be fought over. I never asked for any of this.

"You know what I like?" I say, looking first at Peeta and then at Gale. "When adults act like men instead of boys and I can eat my dinner in peace." I toss my head defiantly, my braid swinging to my back.

I leave them in a stunned silence and my eyes focus only on the wall ahead of me as I finish my food. This isn't how I want it to be, but it's better than listening to them bicker over me as if I'm not even here.

After several minutes have passed, though, I am certain that Gale's eyes are on me. I can feel them even if I can't see them. I turn to him, expecting to catch his eyes, but he's not staring at my face. Oh god, my neck is exposed. That's where he's looking. I try to casually turn, flipping my braid to the side again, but it's too late. His lips are pursed together, his eyes dark, but mostly he just looks sad.

He clears his throat. "Peeta," he says, his voice calmer, more polite. "I don't mean to be rude, but I was hoping to speak to Katniss in private."

Peeta looks at me, his eyes questioning. I know what he's asking me despite his nonverbal communication. He's not going to leave me until I say it's okay.

I don't know what to do. I had told Peeta that I wanted him here, that whatever Gale had to say, he could say in front of the both of us. But it's becoming more and more clear why Gale is here, what he wants to talk about, and he is never going to do it with Peeta in the room. Gale and I have had our differences, but I don't feel right turning him away. He has come all this way, I feel I owe it to him to hear him out, whether I agree with what he has to say or not.

"If you don't mind, Peeta," I say.

I watch guiltily as he brings himself wordlessly to his feet, dropping his plate and silverware in the sink with a bang, before turning to leave the room. "I'll be at my house if you need me," he mutters.

My eyes close momentarily at the sound of the door slamming shut.

"That was a good one," Gale scoffs, staring off in the direction Peeta left. "Double-checking with you if it was okay for him to leave, as if _I'm_ the one you're not safe with."

"Gale, please," I snap, beginning to feel a headache forming.

"Really, though, Katniss, what the hell is going on here?" His eyes are a smoldering gray, his eyebrows knitted in concern. "Am I the only one who remembers how dangerous he is, how out of control he can become in a moment's passing? What are you doing letting him in your house like this?"

"Pretty sure I'm an adult who can make my own decisions," I say through gritted teeth. "What he said before is true, it really isn't any of your business."

"So I guess that hickey on your neck isn't any of my business either." He is testing me, he wants to make me angry, to go off on him.

"No, it's not." And I smile at him, knowing it will unnerve him.

"He's been back a few days and you two are playing house, huh? If I had known that's all it took, I would have scheduled my flight for earlier."

When I answer, my voice is icy and cutting. "You've been out of my life a lot longer than a few days, Gale."

For the first time tonight, his hard exterior seems to crumble a little. He blinks a few times, not knowing what to say, an uneasy look crossing his face.

I don't think I had realized how angry I was at him until now. How much I resented him. Not just for his involvement in the rebellion, his relish for war, but because he had abandoned me after the explosion, after what happened to Prim.

When I see he has nothing to say, I continue. "You never visited me in the hospital. Not once. Peeta was half-dead, in the hospital himself, and even he checked in on me whatever way he could. And when I was finally released after the trial... well, you weren't there then either."

"Katniss." He looks pained. "I tried to explain to you. That I knew what you were thinking ever since that bomb went off. I couldn't bear the way I knew you would look at me after that."

"So why are you here now?"

"Because I miss you, that's why," he says, exasperated. "Because I hate that we don't talk anymore, that we're like strangers."

"Well, I don't like it either, but I guess that's the way it is now."

"But why? It doesn't have to be this way." He leans forward. "Come back with me. Come to District 2."

I start to laugh. When I see that he is serious, that he thinks me leaving is a real possibility, I laugh harder, not sure what has come over me.

He glares at me, his hurt quickly turning back into anger. "I'm glad you think it's so funny."

"It's ridiculous to even suggest it, Gale. You should know I would never leave this place. It's home."

"You were willing to leave it once," he says, his voice low and sounding far away. "We considered running away together, or have you forgotten that too?"

"I haven't forgotten anything, but things have changed."

"Because you're Peeta's now." There is no emotion, he just states it. He looks tired, the fire finally beginning to leave him.

"I'm not anybody's," I say.

When he gets up to leave, I don't move. Let him go, I think. I feel weird and unsettled, this conversation hardly providing the closure I had hoped it would, but nothing is being accomplished here tonight.

"Walk me to the door?"

We walk in silence, and I think that this is the end of it. The end of us. I guess it will go back to being the way it was before when we weren't talking, that it shouldn't make me feel much of anything, but I feel indescribably empty inside.

I open the door and he is about to walk out, when he stops to turn and face me. I have to tilt my head up to see him, he is so much taller than I am.

"How do you know?" he asks, a stubborn determination taking hold of him.

"How do I know what?"

"How do you know that we don't belong together?"

"I just do," I sigh. "Please, Gale, you're making this so much more difficult than it has to be."

"You _think_ we don't. But you don't know."

I shrug. "I don't know what you want me to say."

He touches my cheek. My first instinct is to flinch away, but I don't. I wait him out.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers.

"No," I say, shaking my head vehemently. "Absolutely not."

"Okay," he says, but he smiles to himself as he lets his hand drop to his side.

I frown at him, not understanding. He asked me if he could kiss me, and I said no. What is there to smile about?

"I'm going to go hunting tomorrow. I'll be at our meeting place at ten o'clock."

"I have plans," I say curtly.

"Well, if you change your mind. If not, I'll be there the next day. The day after that." He steps down from my front porch and walks halfway across the lawn before turning his head back to look at me once more. "I'm not going to kiss you without your consent. But I am going to keep asking, and I'm not leaving 12 before I do. I hope you find the courage to let me."

I stare after him until he disappears from sight, and I realize my body is shaking. I tug the door shut without locking it and break out into a run, not stopping to catch my breath until I am standing on Peeta's doorstep.

I let myself in, fumbling around in his dark house until I find the stairs and make my way up to his bedroom. He is lying in bed, the lights out, but his eyes are wide open, illuminated by the moonlight coming from the open window next to his bed.

"Hey," he says tiredly. "How did it go?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I say, climbing into bed next to him, pulling his covers up around me. "Just hold me, okay?"

"Okay," he answers, opening his arms to me. I crawl into them, his body warm and safe. He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me. I squeeze back. Neither of us says another word.

He's the first to fall asleep, and I feel my eyelids drooping as his chest raises my head up and down with every breath. I can only admit it to myself when my eyes have fought their way closed, when I feel myself begin to slip into unconsciousness. Part of me _had_ wanted to kiss Gale. I _was_ afraid, not knowing what I would have felt if I had let him.

There is a reason I am afraid, and that reason has his arms wrapped tightly around me even as he sleeps. I am starting to feel things for Peeta, things I cannot even put into words, because I don't know the names for them, I have never felt them before. How can part of me want Gale when I know I want Peeta? It's unfair, it's unreasonable, it's unrealistic. But it's real.

"I don't want to hurt you," I whisper, my words heard by no one but me, as I drift off into a troubled sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The colors of the woods seem so much more vibrant than usual this morning. The sunlight streaming through the trees an iridescent rainbow of greens, golds, and browns, the sky a perfect blue. I am walking with longer strides than usual, not content to go my usual leisurely pace. I'm almost there, I am almost to him.

I see the gleam of his black hair first, then the red of his shirt, and finally the back of him comes into view as he stands in the clearing, waiting for me. Even though I know I am moving noiselessly, he senses my presence, turning when I'm still a good twenty yards away.

"You came," he says, as I approach, a knowing smile on his face. "I knew you would."

I am hypnotized, unable to tear my eyes away from his, not stopping until I am directly in front of him, the toes of my shoes touching his.

Looking at him now I feel the way I did when we first met six years ago: curious, intimidated, excited. The two of us, alone here, surrounded by nature and nothing else, no prying eyes, the possibilities so tangible, the opportunity to connect so unimpeded. This was our secret place, our private world. This was our chance.

The butterflies in my stomach refuse to quiet, the anticipation mounting as he reaches for me. His one arm hooks around my waist, the other hand touches my cheek. I wait for him to ask me. If it's okay, if he can kiss me. The way he said he would. But his lips are nearing mine, and he hasn't spoken another word, his eyes burning into mine, willing me into submission.

I fall into him as our lips touch and am strangely unfazed as he drags me impatiently to the ground, my back sinking into the soft grass beneath me. I don't question as he begins to hurriedly undress me, my heart pounding, my body responding to him with a pooling desire. I kiss him back wildly, moaning at the touch of his hands against my skin. He moves to unzip his pants, and my hips flex at the very thought of him inside of me.

When he speaks, however, I shrink away from him. "You're beautiful," he says as he spreads my legs. But something is not as it should be. That isn't Gale's voice, that's Peeta's.

I squint at him, the sun in my eyes, disoriented. He looks like Gale, but that was undeniably Peeta's voice. The longer I look at him, the more he begins to transform. His dark hair lightening, the grey of his eyes turning bluer, his nose and lips altering within seconds.

"Gale?" I ask, becoming increasingly unsure of my surroundings.

"It's me," he says. But it's now Peeta looking down at me. This is wrong, I think. I have to leave here.

I scramble away from him and to my feet. And start to run. I can run away, I suddenly realize, because this is only a dream.

I wake up with a start, sharply kicking my legs back. Peeta grunts at the impact of my feet against his body, and I bring up my arm to cover my eyes, taking a moment to orient myself. I go over the facts in my head. I am in Peeta's bed. Peeta is next to me. I came here last night after dinner, after speaking to Gale. Gale asked me if I would go back with him to District 2. He also asked if he could kiss me. I said no, but he had smiled, knowing somehow that a part of me had wanted to. He said he was going to stay in 12 until I did, that he would wait for me at our meeting place. And now I had dreamed about him, about wanting him, about what could happen between us if I let it. But he had morphed into Peeta before we could consummate our relationship, my mind playing tricks, testing me.

Peeta. I turn to him now. He is staring at me with a quiet fascination, and something tells me he has been awake and watching me for awhile.

"Do I even want to know?" he asks.

"Just a crazy dream," I say, shaking my head, wishing I could immediately remove it from my memory.

"Must have been crazy. First you're moaning and touching yourself and then you're in a panic and violently kicking me."

My cheeks warm and I know I am blushing. "I was touching myself?"

"Only a little." He leans in to kiss my collarbone. "I hope I was in this dream."

"You were," I say, grateful I don't have to lie. "I don't really want to talk about it though."

"You don't want to talk about a lot of things," he says, his voice deepening. He turns away from me, lying back on his pillow, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

So this is how it starts. Him pulling away from me. Me losing him. I sigh as I reach for his hand. My fingers intertwine with his, but when I squeeze, he doesn't squeeze back.

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

He snorts. "What happened after I left last night, for starters."

I take a deep breath, holding it for several seconds, before slowly exhaling. I've decided that I must be completely honest with him, tell him everything, whether it's what he wants to hear or not, if there is any hope for us. And I do want there to be hope for us.

"We just talked. He was upset I was spending time with you. He's worried you're still dangerous. But you know that since he obviously left his manners at the door last night."

"Asshole," he mutters under his breath.

I can't help but hide a smile. "He was an asshole," I agree. "I'm sorry about that."

"Whatever. What else did he say?"

I hesitate. But I promised myself I would be honest. That I wouldn't keep things from Peeta anymore. "He wants me to go back with him, to 2. He said he misses me, that he feels I haven't given him a chance, that I think we don't belong together, but I don't know it for sure."

I speak slowly, cautiously, carefully monitoring Peeta's expression. He does nothing but stare up at the ceiling, his face void of emotion.

When he speaks, his voice is stiff. "What else?"

"I laughed at him when he suggested it. It was so ludicrous, I couldn't take him seriously. He got angry and went to leave. But before he did he asked if he could kiss me." I swallow. This is harder than I thought. I know every word is cutting sharply through him, whether he lets me see it or not.

"I'm not surprised," Peeta says. "What did you say?"

"I said no."

"So when's the next time he's going to ask you then?"

I give a half-hearted laugh. "You know him too well..."

"He's a vulture." A look of pure disgust crosses Peeta's face, one I'm not used to seeing on him. "He won't leave until he gets what he wants."

"He'll have to," I say, forcing myself to sound confident.

Finally Peeta's eyes turn to meet mine with a determined intensity. "I would take care of this myself, you know. If I knew that was what you wanted."

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I know what I have to say, what he needs me to say. _It's you, Peeta, you're the only one I want. I am yours and yours alone._ But I find myself tongue-tied, at a loss for words.

"This is my problem, not yours," I finally say. "I told him I'm not interested, and I'll tell him a million times more if I have to. I don't need to be responsible for a bloodbath between the the two of you. I can take care of myself."

"He would have left already if he had known there was no chance with you." He practically sneers the words. He is getting increasingly bitter and hostile, and I know it's me and me alone who has made him this way.

I feel my own irritation and frustration boiling up. I am so tired of always being the bad guy, of always having to live my life for other people, of knowing that whichever decision I make, someone will get hurt. I am trying. I did what I knew was the right thing last night by turning Gale away, and I am still being punished for it.

"Everything I told you is the truth. I told him no, that things were different now, that any possibility of us together was long gone."

"That's even worse then," he says, visibly wincing. "That means not even your words could conceal what you obviously still feel for him. I can see it, and he can see it too."

"I didn't do anything!" Now I am screaming, exasperated.

"You basically let Gale order me out of the house, Katniss. If I was him, that would have given me a pretty big ego boost too. You knew what he was coming here to say to you. You knew the second he walked in that door. But you still let me leave. You obviously wanted to hear it for yourself."

"I let you leave, but _you're_ the one who left. You could have stayed and fought for me, Peeta, but you didn't."

The room is suffocating with the venom from our accusations. How could so much affection between us be replaced by so much hate in a manner of minutes? The way he is looking at me now, it's hard to imagine there ever could be love in his eyes for me again.

"I'm not going to stay and fight for someone who I know will probably never be mine," he says, his voice cracking by the end of his sentence.

The tortured look in his eyes is excruciating. So much so that I look away.

"I think maybe you should go." He says it quietly but sternly, and I feel instantly numb.

I bring myself slowly to a sitting position, but don't move any further. I hug my knees to my chest, feeling utterly lost, wondering how things could have gone this wrong this quickly.

I can feel hot tears pushing at the corner of my eyes, a hard lump forming in my throat. I won't do it, though, I won't cry in front of him.

"This isn't fair," I say, my volume barely above a whisper.

He makes the mistake of looking at me, and I feel him yield just enough, at least some of his anger subsided and replaced by empathy. But he stops himself, he doesn't move to comfort me. Not the way he would have only a short day ago.

"Take your time," he says, rising wearily to his feet.

He lifts his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor, before going into the bathroom and closing the door with a bang.

For several moments I don't think or feel anything, I just let myself be. I hear the sound of the faucets, and then the spray of water from his shower, first hitting the floor, and then the more subdued thud of it hitting his skin.

I would think it would calm me, lull me into a false sense of tranquility, but the longer I sit there and listen to the drone of that water against his body, the more I feel a hysterical rage inhabiting my body, spreading from the pit of my stomach up to my chest, to my throat.

Whatever it is that has come over causes me to bound from the bed and over to the bathroom, opening and then slamming the door as hard as I can behind me.

"You're a coward," I hiss.

He stumbles backwards in surprise at the sight of me, nearly hitting his head against the tiled wall.

"What are you doing in here?" he demands. "And I'm a what?"

"A coward," I repeat. "You're not going to fight for this. For us. This has meant nothing to you?"

"I'm not having this conversation right now," he says, turning his back to me.

Why is he doing this, why is he rejecting me? Turning away from me the way everyone else in my life has. I stare at him through the clear glass of the shower wall. At the body that was mine, if only for a short while, feeling that I would give anything to erase everything that had been said between us this morning, to go back to how we were, how we should be.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say. I quickly undress, kicking my clothes to the corner of the bathroom, before sliding the glass door open and stepping inside the shower with him.

He is completely taken off guard, and I use that to my advantage as I press my body up against his, wrapping my arms around his waist. I look up at him even as the water from the showerhead drenches my face and hair.

"Don't do this," I say assertively. "Don't give up on us."

I watch the internal struggle play out on his face. As his mind fights his body to stand strong. I can feel him grow hard against my stomach, the reaction to the touch of our wet bodies obviously beyond his control. But he lets me hold him limply. For what feels like an eternity he doesn't touch me, doesn't hold me back.

I raise myself up on my tiptoes, just enough to level my lips with his. I kiss him slowly, gently, although he doesn't budge, his mouth remaining in a firm, straight line.

I keep kissing him, refusing to give up, not knowing what else I can do. And finally his lips part, just enough for my tongue to meet his, his hands fall to my hips.

"Why are you doing this?" he murmurs, but he is kissing me back now, first as slowly as I was, and then with a building passion that makes me feel weak in my knees. His hands grab my ass cheeks, kneading them roughly, squeezing them with an uncontrollable need.

"Because I want you." I sigh against his lips. "I want you so badly."

As if my words are a trigger, he grabs me from underneath my thighs, lifting me roughly up into his arms. My legs snake instinctively around his waist just before he shoves me up against the shower wall, his mouth hungrily attacking mine. I gasp at the impact, the tiles cool against my back. He hikes me up further, balancing me against the wall, as he positions his manhood in his hand, rubbing his hardness along the slit of my wetness, up and down and back again.

His teasing is agonizing. Every time he strokes his thickness down towards my opening, I shudder with anticipation, but he continues tirelessly, his mouth burying into my neck, my shoulder, leaving biting kisses in its trail. I cry out as the head of him enters me for a moment, but he pulls it out again, returning to his steady torture.

I am dizzy with expectation, my breathing uneven. I can't handle this. I want to wait for him, but this is too much. He senses the exact moment that I am on the brink, and heaves me up and onto his waiting erection. We fall into the wall, the thud of my body lost in our moans and heavy breathing. I start to slide down along the tiles as his arms begin to lose their strength and he carefully lowers me to the floor of the shower. The spray of the water hits my body momentarily before he is on top of me, taking the brunt of the pressure, though he barely seems to notice. He picks up right where he left off, bending my knees before thrusting deep inside of me, his thumb moving to work my clit. I climax within seconds, crying out his name, my voice muffled by the splash of the water bouncing off his back and onto the floor. He follows soon after, his entire body trembling as he reaches completion.

Peeta gives himself only a moment of rest before separating his body from mine, rising to his feet and extending a hand to me. My legs are still twitching, my center spasming, as I let him drag me into a standing position. He hugs my body to his and I rest my head on his chest, hearing his still rapid heartbeat.

"Hope you're paying for my water bill this month," he says.

I laugh, taking his hands in mine as I pull away to look at him. "Are we okay?" I ask.

"I don't know. Maybe you could keep your clothes on and then I could think straight."

I slap him playfully on the arm. "You're not funny."

"Honestly, though." And now he turns serious. "I love having sex with you, that's a given, but we're hiding behind it." His thumb brushes along my lower lip before he leans down to place a single kiss. "We need to figure out what's going on between us."

"I know," I say softly, shifting my eyes from his, the guilt returning.

We wash ourselves in silence, politely taking turns under the showerhead. As I walk back in to his bedroom, a towel knotted around my chest, I catch a glimpse of his alarm clock. Ten-thirty. I remember Gale's words, that he would be waiting for me at ten and smile to myself. Surely it was a good sign that I hadn't even thought of it til now, til it was too late.

The phone rings just then and I have an irrational moment of panic. Is it Gale? Does he somehow know I am here, is he calling me, wanting to know why I never showed? But when Peeta answers the phone, it is immediately clear that these are nothing but paranoid thoughts.

Peeta covers the mouthpiece of the receiver, before turning to me. "It's Dr. Aurelius. You're not the only one who has to endure these phone sessions," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Might as well take this now. Be back in a bit."

He leaves the room, disappearing to some other part of the house. Funny how I had never considered that Peeta would have to be monitored as well, although it certainly makes sense.

I dry my body and my hair, still feeling warm inside and unusually calm. I move to put my clothes back on, but change my mind as soon as I see them. They remind me of dinner last night, of Gale. I'd rather wear something fresh, I decide, something of Peeta's. I open one drawer and find an old, worn t-shirt, one I'd seen him wear many times over the years. I bring it up to my face, inhaling Peeta's scent, before slipping it over my head and putting it on. The next drawer I open contains his boxers. I rummage through them, searching for one I recognize, when I feel the sharp friction of paper along my finger.

Curious, I pull out what appears to be a bundle of letters from the bottom corner of the drawer, my heart sinking as I immediately recognize the handwriting on them as Madge's.

I know I should put them back where they came from without a second glance. That I should forget I even saw them. I also know that I am not capable of either of these things.

I sink down onto the edge of the bed, a sense of dread coming over me, holding the bundle firmly in my hands. There were at least twenty letters here. Why were there so many? Why was she writing him letters in the first place? Most of all, I asked myself, why had he held onto them? Why were they hidden away underneath clothing in his drawers, a kept secret but readily accessible if needed?

I can hear Peeta's voice in the distance, a reminder that my time is limited if I want to take a look at these letters without him knowing. I fumble with the twine holding the pile together, pulling the top piece of paper out. I scan it anxiously, knowing I don't have time to read the entire thing.

The date on the top right-hand corner sets this letter less than a month before the Victory Tour, a time period Peeta had claimed their relationship was already over.

My eyes dart to the center of the page. _I miss you more than words can say,_ it read_s. I think about you when I wake up, when I go to sleep, and every moment in between._ _I understand why you ended things between us. I know you feel guilty that you still have feelings for her after all this time, but I also know that doesn't negate the feelings you have for me. I love you, Peeta, and I know you love me too_.

Was it true? Did he have real feelings for her despite his feelings for me? Had he loved her?

I throw the letter to the side, removing another from deeper in the pile.

_I can't stop thinking about you. About yesterday afternoon and the afternoon before that and the afternoon before that... We can't get enough of each other, and I love it._

I take a deep breath, suddenly feeling nauseous. I should have never read these. If only I had just put my own clothes back on, had never gone digging around in his things.

Peeta clears his throat from the doorway, and I jump a little, startled, his letters falling to the carpet. I had been so engrossed in reading, I hadn't even heard him walk in.

He frowns at me, his brows furrowed together. "What are you doing with those?"

"I was looking for boxers to wear, I- my clothes from last night were dirty, I didn't want to wear them- I found them by accident," I stammer.

"These are personal," he murmurs, bending to pick up the two stray letters, a photograph of her that must have been tucked away in one of them, and the bundle itself before depositing them in the night table drawer.

"I'm sorry," I say. I know I should leave it at that. It's bad enough that I found the letters, that I read parts of them, I should know to keep my mouth shut after that. But I don't. "You lied to me, Peeta."

He shakes his head calmly. "I didn't lie to you about anything."

"You said you didn't have feelings for her. That she loved you, but you hadn't felt the same." My voice quivers slightly.

"There are different kinds of love," he answers quietly. "I didn't think it was necessary to go into detail about the extent of our relationship considering it's a thing of the past now."

"You obviously cared a lot for her. You keep that pile of letters, her picture..."

"I never said I didn't."

I look down at my hands, embarrassed by my reaction to all of this, at how jealous it makes me. I guess I had believed what I'd wanted to believe. That yes he had been with Madge, but he was desperately in love with me the whole time, that he was a teenage boy with hormones and nothing more. It _had_ been more though, and that realization leaves me unsure - unsure of myself, of the way I'd always viewed his feelings for me, of the nature of love in general.

He sits down next to me on the bed and places his hand over mine. "Why does this upset you so much?"

"I'm not sure," I admit.

He sighs. "If anything you should be pouncing on this opportunity."

"What opportunity?" I look at him questioningly. "I'm not following."

"I had feelings for both you and Madge at the same time. Aren't you thinking that this justifies the fact that you have feelings for both me and Gale?"

"I never said I had feelings for Gale," I snap defensively. "Are we really going back to this?"

"Katniss, please," he says, his facial muscles clenching with restraint. "We agreed we had to talk, to figure out what was going on between us. This isn't easy for me either, you know. The least you can do is be honest with me and honest with yourself."

I hesitate before saying, "I'm being honest when I say I don't know how I feel about him."

"But you wonder what it would be like to be with him? How it would be different from me?" He caresses my hand with his thumb. He is being so calm, so rational. A far cry from our conversation earlier. What's gotten into him?

"I guess," I say. "Although I'm almost positive it could never compare. I may have some unresolved emotions for him, but they are nothing like what I feel for you."

I hold onto him tightly, hoping he can understand. He nods, but it's impossible to tell what he is really thinking.

"You've also never been intimate with him," he says. "Which I'm afraid might have something to do with it."

"Because obviously every girl instantly falls in love with whoever they sleep with." I roll my eyes. "I deserve more credit than that, Peeta."

"That's not how I meant it." He closes his eyes as if taking a breather from this conversation. He is trying so hard to be mature about this, to talk about this civilly, but it's exhausting. "But you can't deny that it has changed things for us."

I think about my dream last night. How excited and turned on I had been to be with Gale like that. But could it ever be like that in real life? Did I even want to find out?

"I don't want him the way I want you," I answer simply.

"That's nice to hear, but I need more from you than that." He disentangles our fingers, rising to his feet and over to his dresser.

"What does that mean? I'm being punished because I've never slept with him, because I don't know how I would feel if I did? How is that fair?"

"Maybe it's not, but I can't be with you until you know what you want. Let him kiss you if you have to, if that's going to help you decide." He grimaces at his own words before turning to dress himself, his back to me. "In the meantime, I think we should cool things down between us a little."

"So let's get this straight. You want me to go kiss Gale. And you don't want to fuck me anymore."

"Pretty much," he says, his intense blue eyes once again meeting mine. "The fact that you're calling it fucking only further proves my point."

"Oh, I'm sorry. You don't want to make love to me as you slam me into the shower wall anymore."

He stifles a smile, walking over to place his hands on my shoulders. "Let's just see where this goes, okay? I'm trying to do the right thing."

I nod, but I can't say I understand. I have tried to do everything I can to convince Peeta that I don't need Gale, that it is him who I want, but evidently I have failed miserably. He doesn't trust me. He doesn't believe that I would be happy with only him, never knowing what could have been with Gale. Maybe this should be a relief to me. After all, I have been so angry that I am not free to make my own decisions for myself, and here was my chance. He was setting me free, he had told me to go let Gale kiss me for god's sake. So why do I feel more unhappy than ever...

"I'll see you later, okay?" he says soothingly, leaning down to peck me on the lips.

"Sure," I say, wondering if I sound as cold as I feel.

I leave his house and walk to mine in a daze, on autopilot, feeling chilly even as the hot sun beats down on my back. I don't even look twice when I see the outline of Gale waiting on my doorstep. Of course he is here. I am becoming accustomed to the constant drama, the relentless back-and-forth even as it begins to take its toll on me. I take my time as I approach him, becoming aware that I am wearing Peeta's clothing and then discovering that I don't care.

He rises to meet me.

"Want to go hunting?" He asks me so casually, I almost laugh. As if we're little kids and he's come by knocking on my door, seeing if I want to play.

"Sure," I say. "Let me go in and change."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"How about one of those? You see that flock of birds heading this way? " Gale asks, gesturing to the sky.

I reach back to grab an arrow, position it so that the point shifts upward, and release the string of my bow. Nothing. It misses wildly. Not even close.

"Told you I can't shoot today," I grumble.

"Strange. I'd say you're just out of practice, but you came home with a whole bag of game yesterday, didn't you?"

_That's because I was alone_, I think. I was distracted yesterday thinking about Gale returning, but that was nothing compared to now, when he is only mere inches away from me.

I shrug. "Who knows. An off day I guess."

We had been hunting for hours now, and in many ways being together felt surprisingly like old times. We hadn't talked about Peeta, or any of the events of the last 24 hours for that matter. I certainly wasn't going to be the first to bring up anything, and I suppose he was waiting for the right moment, knowing that to dive right into such heady subject matter would only distance me further. Maybe he wanted me to feel at ease first, as if this was any old Sunday we used to spend together before the Quarter Quell. It doesn't work though, I do not feel at ease.

The conversation between Peeta and I this morning still has me reeling. He had never turned me away like that before, had never talked to me so coldly, so unfeelingly. For the first time since knowing him I had questioned his love for me, his willingness to fight for me at all costs. I knew deep down, however, that I'd had this coming for a long time. I had strung the two of them along for years now, always feeling that I needed more time, taking it for granted that they would always be there. Gale, the more stubborn of the two, had been the first to turn away. Peeta had held on longer, persisted long after any sane human being would have, but I suppose even someone as patient and devoted as Peeta has a limit. And I had done it - I had pushed him to his limit.

My quiet musing hasn't gone unnoticed. When I refocus, Gale is staring at me.

"Should we take a break and eat something?" he asks.

"Sounds good," I say.

We find a grassy patch under a nearby tree and take a seat. I take out two sandwiches made from last night's leftovers, handing him one, our fingers brushing against each other for only a second, but enough to reignite the nervous energy in the pit of my stomach.

I recognize for the second time since his arrival in 12 that this excitement is not the same as the one I have felt around Peeta. With Peeta it is a yearning, an irrepressible need to connect, to feel as physically and emotionally close to him as possible. What I feel when I look at Gale is harder to identify. I would be lying if I said there wasn't a curiosity. It is impossible to deny his good looks and charm, our effortless friendship, the fact that he knows all of my secrets, that we can often communicate without saying a word. In a sense, what better kind of a person to choose as a lover, to spend my life with? But hidden within these positive attributes is something unpleasant, a darkness that unnerves me.

"It's nice to be back here. To spend time with you like this," he says.

I don't know how to respond, so I don't, taking a bite of my sandwich instead. It's not that I mind being with him. If it could stay like this, if we could be good friends the way we always had been, that would be enough for me. It's the side of our relationship that we haven't properly explored that compromises our time together. Part of me truly does believe that I could go the rest of my life not knowing what could have been between us and that I would be fine with it. If Gale had never called, if he had never come back here, it wouldn't have made me love Peeta any less, it wouldn't have made our relationship seem any less real. To never have to explore the feelings for Gale that I had repressed - ones of abandonment, of confusion, of incompletion - would have been ideal. But here he is, sitting next to me, and I am forced to feel the dull ache of the potential we had once had and then lost.

"I'm sorry for my behavior at dinner last night," he says, taking me by surprise. "I was rude and childish. I just really hadn't expected Peeta to be there... it took me off guard, and I reacted badly to it."

"It's him you should apologize to, not me."

"Somehow I doubt that it would be worth it to him to see me just for that," he says with a wry smile. He pauses, and then adds, "Did you tell him what we talked about last night?"

"Yes," I say, deciding to continue my campaign of brutal honesty with both of them.

His lips form a straight line of displeasure, but he nods anyway. "Fair enough."

We eat the rest of our meal in silence, but I know he is just biding his time until his next question. He is restless for answers, to know the extent of my relationship with Peeta; I can tell this just from looking at him. I am impressed that he is attempting to restrain himself at all.

"I'm just trying to understand," he says finally, his voice lacking its characteristic certainty. "He has only been back a few days, and all of a sudden you two are together, you're spending the night at his house. How does that happen?"

"It just did. We do have a history together, it's not as random as you make it sound."

"But you guys had never been... physical before this, had you?"

I know I shouldn't even have to answer him. This is personal and certainly not any of his business. But somehow I know it will only make things harder for me if I don't. Not to mention I can't help but feel somewhat sympathetic; I see so many aspects of my own personality in him - his impatience, the way he agonizes over not knowing the whole truth, the way he can't just let things go.

"No," I say.

"But you've slept together now? More than once?"

I sigh, giving him a disapproving look. "This is inappropriate, Gale."

"Why?" He frowns. "I'm your friend, aren't I? I'm not going to fly off the handle, I just want to know. Please."

This reminds me of when I grilled Peeta for information about Madge. We really are too similar for our own good.

"Yes, we have slept together. More than once."

"See, that wasn't so hard. Harder for me to hear than for you to say, believe me." He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, as he runs his hand absentmindedly through his hair.

"Is this strictly about the sex?" he asks suddenly, as if the idea has just occurred to him. "Because I could make you feel good too, you know."

Oh, arrogant Gale, there you are. I was wondering where you went. I shake my head at him critically, unsuccessfully attempting to conceal a laugh.

He glares at me. "You find me very funny lately."

"Because you don't think before you speak. And you end up saying ridiculous things."

He huffs, looking away from me, annoyed. This is the Gale I know - so quick to anger, so easily offended. But there's something sexy about him when he pouts...

"So you love him, then," he says petulantly, his gaze focused on something off in the distance.

I hesitate before saying, "I have strong feelings for him."

This catches his attention as he turns to me once more. I know that was the one thing that might have put a premature end to this twisted triangle - if I had looked Gale in the eyes, told him I loved Peeta and not him, and that was that. But I couldn't do it..

"And me? What do you feel for me?" he asks.

"A mix of things," I say quietly.

He doesn't pry further at the moment, perhaps knowing he wouldn't be happy with what he would uncover.

"I'll be the first to admit that I let you down, Katniss," he says, his eyes squinting in the sunlight. "All I ever wanted to do was to protect you and your family, and I failed at that. I should have been there for you after the explosion, after what happened to Prim. It's not something I'm proud of."

This isn't easy for him. To admit he was wrong, to take responsibility for what went awry between us. Yet I know him well enough to know he won't just leave it at that. He won't give up this easily, not when it's something he wants. It's a perseverance I've always both admired and loathed.

"With that being said," he continues. "I think you blame me for a lot more than I deserve."

I move to avert his eyes, but now his hand reaches out to cup my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"You've been through hell and back these past couple of years. I get that. You're one of the strongest people I know, but I've seen the way it's taken its toll on you." He touches my cheek. "With all that pain, all that suffering, it's understandable you'd want a scapegoat. But don't let that person be me. Don't banish me from your life because I remind you of things that were out of my control."

I snap my head away from his grasp, but I have to admit that part of what he says is true. I _have_ associated him with my most recent tragedies, especially with Prim's, which he doesn't really deserve. Even if it was his bomb that killed her, he could have never known the repercussions, what harm it would cause to those he cared about the most. But it was more than just the accident, than him not visiting me in the hospital...

I struggle with how to explain to him. "I know you think that this is just about Prim, but it's more than that, Gale."

"Then what?"

"You're still picturing us as the two teenagers who would hunt in the woods together every day, but we're not those kids anymore. It would have been different if I'd never gone to the Games, if the rebellion had never happened, if things had stayed the same... maybe we would have stayed the same. But things changed, Gale. We changed."

He furrows his brows, agitated. "I'm assuming by 'we' you're really talking about me. How have I changed? Tell me the ways."

"It's not like I have a list in my head. It's not your fault and it's not mine either. People change over time. People grow apart."

"Bull shit." He practically spits the words out. "And you believe it, too. You've nearly convinced yourself."

"Convinced myself of what?" Now it's my turn to be agitated. "Why do you always have to twist everything I say, make things so much more complicated than they actually are?"

The next time he speaks his voice is so shockingly low and guttural with emotion, I get chills. "You are so afraid."

I put up my hand, palm open, overcome with an intense desire to stop this conversation in its tracks. I don't know the next words that are going to come out of his mouth, but somehow I feel them, by some illogical phenomenon I am already choking on them.

He overrides my silent plea. "You are so afraid of what would happen between us if you only let it. So you've created these cliches about us - that we're different people now, that we've grown apart. Well, I call bull shit. You just want it easy and Peeta is easy. Peeta is an escape." He leans in closer so that I can feel his warm breath on my face. "You look at me and you're forced to feel things, and you don't like it."

I am not even fully comprehending what he is saying, what he means, I only know that in this moment I hate him. I want to hurt him, to strand him here helplessly, to forget he ever existed. But I also want him to overtake me, to pin me down, to kiss me. My thoughts are so disjointed, so scrambled. I feel weak and powerful in the same moment. Frightened but excited.

"What's the same between us is that I still love you," he continues, his hand on my ankle, pinning me to the ground. "What's changed is that you want to pretend that you don't love me."

I feel my heart pounding within my chest and I wonder if he can hear it too. He's scaring me. Hell, I'm scaring myself. Because I'm listening, I'm taking in every word he says and questioning everything I thought I had figured out, everything I thought I believed in prior to this moment.

"I'm going to ask you again," he murmurs, and now his body is leaning precipitously over mine. "Can I kiss you?"

It's really a clever mind game he's orchestrated here, that I must give him permission. That if we kiss, I cannot blame it on him or the circumstance, I can only blame myself, my lack of self-control. We both know if he started to kiss me right now, I would let him. But he won't, he won't make it that easy.

I can feel the weight of his body looming over mine, even though we are barely touching. His grey eyes are dark and serious. His lips twitch slightly. I can't say I feel the love he talks about, but I can feel the lust, thick and suffocating in the tight air space between us. How did we go so many years without this happening when we were always alone together, temporarily shielded from reality in this outdoors haven? Our history contained a few scattered kisses, but never a tense moment comparable to this. Why does it feel so imperative that it happens now? Like there might not be another chance.

"No," I say, pushing him away roughly by the chest. I feel almost as stunned as he looks as he awkwardly stumbles back.

"Sorry," he mutters, getting to his feet and offering his hand. "I misread you right now... I thought you'd wanted to."

I had wanted to. I had thought I was going to say 'yes.' And then my voice had betrayed me and said the exact opposite.

I grab hold of his hand and let him pull me to my feet. We stand there uncomfortably for several moments before I speak.

"You're right," I say. "I am afraid. But I can't do this. Not now."

"Not now or not ever?"

I don't have an answer and he doesn't even seem to expect one, as he gathers his bag and bow from the ground.

"Looks like we're done for the day," he announces even though the sun is still high in the sky.

We walk back into town in almost complete silence. There are things I could ask him, things I could try to further explain, but it seems pointless at the moment. He doesn't want to talk, and neither do I. Occasionally his hand brushes against mine as we walk. The first and second time I attribute it to chance, but after the third and fourth I begin to get suspicious. Regardless of whether it's accidental or not, we neither acknowledge it nor widen the distance between us.

It's only when he walks me to my doorstep that he talks for the first time in over half an hour. "I'll probably go hunting again tomorrow. Will I see you?"

"Why would you want to see me again?" I ask, shaking my head in confusion.

He shrugs. "Why wouldn't I?"

I turn my head to open the door so he won't see me smile. "We'll see," I say. "Goodbye Gale."

I lean my back against the inside of the door as I close it behind me, exhaling slowly. What. the. hell. was. that. We spent the majority of the day as friends, ended the day as friends, and somewhere in the middle almost had a make-out session on the forest floor.

I wander into my living room and collapse on my couch, resolving to shut my mind off for the remainder of the afternoon. I suppose it works because I fall into a dreamless sleep, awakening only to the sound of the phone ringing.

"Hello?" I answer groggily.

"Did I wake you?" Peeta's voice asks.

"I was just taking a short nap," I say, squinting through my bleary eyes to see the clock reads almost eight. Maybe not such a short nap. "What are you up to?"

"Just wondering if you wanted company. I made some dinner for us, a casserole, that I can bring over if you're interested."

"That sounds perfect," I say. And then, "I miss you."

"Alright. See you in ten," he says, before hanging up.

I frown at the receiver as I place it back on its charger. I tell him I miss him and the best response he can come up with is "Alright"?

"Whatever," I mumble to myself, entering the downstairs bathroom to splash some cold water over my face.

The rest of the evening is certainly a stark contrast to the way Peeta and I have spent our last couple of days. We eat, he suggests we take a walk after dinner, we watch television, we even play card games. I can't help but feel like he is just trying to keep us busy and actively doing things so that there won't be too much downtime, too much of an opportunity to be physically close to one another. It feels strange, to go from one extreme to another in such a short period of time. I still enjoy his company, but I feel so restricted now that I know I can't just reach out and touch him when I want to. I tried it at dinner, placing a hand on his leg under the table and he had reacted so uncomfortably, that I had quickly removed it. We had held hands briefly during our walk, but even then it had felt strained and unnatural.

Perhaps even more strange is the fact that he hasn't asked me what I did today after I left his house. Maybe I am supposed to volunteer the information on my own, but it still feels purposeful that the topic hasn't come up, as if he doesn't want to know.

"So what did you do today?" I finally ask, as we begin our fifth Gin Rummy game of the evening.

"Not much," he says, concentrating on the cards fanned out in his hand. "Did some painting, which was nice."

"That is nice," I say. I wait patiently for him to reciprocate, but he doesn't, and I stubbornly decide that I won't tell him anything until he at least feigns some kind of interest.

He begins to yawn as the game goes on, and I can see his eyes are tired.

"It's late," I say, motioning to the clock that reads after midnight. "Maybe we should call it a night."

"I guess you're right," he says.

I wait anxiously to see what his next move will be. Whether he will get up to leave or if he will still stay the night with me despite his new set of rules which limit our interaction.

"Do you mind if I stay?" he asks, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"I mind if you don't stay," I say.

We make our way up to my bedroom, change our clothes, and turn off the lights before crawling under the covers. I pull his arm around me as I curl up against his chest, and this time he lets me.

"I don't like this," I whisper into the darkness. "We've hardly touched all night. It just feels weird."

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "I'm not doing this to punish you, but I really think it's necessary for the moment. We weren't thinking clearly before..."

"I liked not thinking clearly," I say.

He laughs. "Me too, but I think you understand what I'm saying."

I do. What I don't understand is why he still hasn't asked me about Gale. Why, if he is the reason that we have to put our romantic relationship on hold, we aren't at least talking about him.

I give in. "I went hunting with Gale today."

"Okay," he says quietly.

"Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" I restlessly sit up in bed, turning to look at his face.

"I'm assuming if there was anything to tell, you would have told me."

"I feel like you're testing me, Peeta. And I don't like it."

"Come back here," he murmurs, opening up his arms so that I can climb back into them. "Tell me what happened."

"We talked. He asked to kiss me again, I said no again. We came back early. I guess there is nothing much to tell."

"Why didn't you let him kiss you?" he asks.

"I just said no. I didn't really think about why."

"Next time, say yes."

"I don't understand you," I say, and I can hear the sadness permeate my own voice. "Why do you want me to do that? I could have said yes to him today, and I didn't. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Do you remember when I gave you that locket during the Quarter Quell...?"

"Yes," I say, unsure of where this is going. "You put Gale's picture inside of it. Along with one of my mother and Prim."

"Do you know why I put Gale's picture in there?"

"I think so. You thought I loved him and you wanted me to have a reminder of why I should fight to survive the Games. You wanted me to be happy."

"Mmhmm. That was part of it. But I also did it for me, as a way to help disillusion myself. I had been holding on to the image of us together for so long, and all the while I knew you were in love with him. It was making me miserable. I had to do something to prove to myself that I understood, to communicate to you that I understood... It was the first step in letting you go."

"The first step..." I echo his words, feeling disconcertedly removed from the conversation.

"It's been a long process," he says, "and it hasn't gotten any easier. But I've stayed true to the promise I made myself when I gave you that locket."

I almost don't want to ask. "And what's that?"

"That I would never be blind to your feelings for him again. That I would stop pretending."

"How am I ever going to prove to you that it's you who I want?" I blurt out desperately, suddenly frantic with the realization that Peeta's disenchantment with me is much stronger and longer withstanding than I could have ever imagined.

"You don't have to do anything. Trust me, I'll know," he says. He yawns then, turning on his side. "Goodnight, Katniss."

"Night," I say, but my eyes remain wide open and stay like that for a long time.

When I wake up, it feels like it has only been seconds since I last closed my eyes. I thought I had heard something, but at the moment the room is silent. Peeta is still fast asleep next to me, barely stirring. But then I hear it again - a loud knocking coming from downstairs. I grumble, turning on my side, determined to ignore it, but the disturber continues. It isn't loud enough to wake Peeta, but to me who is trying to fall back sleep, it is becoming too annoying to ignore.

I make my way downstairs, prepared to open the door with the biggest scowl I can muster. But when I discover it's Gale standing on my doorstep, I take a step back in surprise instead.

"Gale, what are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?"

I don't notice until I'm in the middle of asking him that he has a travel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Sorry, I know it's early," he says. "But I don't have much time, I wanted to make sure I said goodbye."

"Goodbye? I don't understand."

"Guess I'm not as important as I thought. Evidently one day of personal leave is plenty. Besides there's supposedly been some minor protests going on in some of the districts, the people are upset there hasn't been enough reconstruction efforts... I won't bore you with the details, but Plutarch needs me."

He says it so matter-of-factly. He accepts it so unquestioningly. This is his life now, this is what's important to him. And again, I feel it. The sensation of abandonment, the realization that his promises are empty.

"You must be relieved," he says with a playful smile. "You can finally have some peace and quiet around here."

I should be relieved. Really, I shouldn't care at all. But instead I feel disgusted looking at the face that I now find so disingenuous. What was the purpose of him coming here, merely to fuck with me? Why would he have spent the last 24 hours fighting for me, vowing that he wouldn't leave 12 until I let him kiss me? Why would he have told me he loved me?

"I wish you had never come back here," I say, my voice cold and unforgiving.

The grin vanishes from his face. "Why would you say that to me?" he asks, dropping his bag to the floor. He edges towards me.

I look away, embarrassed. I've already said too much, I should have just let him go. The last thing I want is for him to know that him leaving upsets me.

"It doesn't matter," I say. "Just go."

I reach for the door, hoping to close it in his face, but his stronger hand grabs hold of mine. He clenches me tightly, enough that it's painful.

"You're hurting me."

He loosens his grip, but doesn't let go of my hand, pinning it against the door. "Do you think I want to leave you?" he hisses angrily. "I know the second I leave here, I've automatically lost. That you'll spend more and more time with him, that you'll fall in love with him, and soon I'll mean nothing to you at all. But I have responsibilities now, I can't just wait around here chasing after you."

I swallow hard, growing uncomfortable as he gazes at me unflinchingly, without blinking. He is always so serious, so intense. There is always so much stormy anger behind those grey eyes.

"I don't want or need you to chase after me. It's fine, Gale. Just go."

He takes my free hand, bringing it up to his chest. "Come with me," he says.

"You know that's not an option, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop asking me," I say. I don't know why I'm even letting him touch me like this, both of my hands now captured in his.

"Okay, we'll compromise." He leans down so that our lips are inches apart. "Let me kiss you."

I want to, and I don't want to. Peeta's words from last night replay in my head._ Next time, say yes_. Certainly he wasn't picturing this when he said that. Surely he didn't know he would be upstairs asleep in my bed when it happened, oblivious to the tension of our bodies in my doorway.

"Yes," I say, my breath catching in my throat as I speak.

He presses a long, lingering kiss to my lips and then stops, pulling back to look at me, but not releasing my hands. His lips are softer than I remember, but overall I feel relieved. It was a pleasant kiss, but nothing special. I hadn't felt anything more.

When he starts to lean in again, though, I still brace myself. Our mouths join and this time his lips are parted, his tongue smoothly entering and finding mine. He lifts both of my arms and joins my hands around his neck, freeing his own hands to settle on the small of my back.

This feels wrong._ I don't want this_, I think._ I should tell him to stop_. But there is a tingling current that travels throughout my body every time his tongue swirls around mine, and I gasp as I feel his fingertips on my sides underneath my night shirt.

His kisses becoming increasingly intense and aggressive until the force of them has pushed me back into my house and up against the the wall of the hallway. Any rational thought long gone, I tug him closer, my body succumbing to him as my hips flex forward. His hands travel up, palming my breasts, and I bite his lower lip at the contact, a low moan escaping my throat.

It's only the chiming of the clock from the living room that brings us back to the present moment.

"Shit, what time is it?" he mutters, removing his left hand from under my shirt to glance at his watch. "Katniss, I gotta go. I'm gonna miss my flight if I don't leave now. They won't wait for me."

I nod, hoping I don't look as flustered as I feel.

"I'll call you tonight. Tomorrow at the latest." He kisses me quickly, before whispering near my ear. "I'm sorry that had to be so rushed, but it was well worth the wait."

And then he's gone, racing across the front yard and out of sight.

I feel light-headed, almost dizzy, as I walk back into the house. I just need a moment to sit and think, surely I'll be able to figure all of this out. But just then I catch a glimpse of him, standing at the top of the staircase, just before he turns and disappears back into my room, shutting the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

It has only been two weeks since the morning Gale left, but it feels like I have replayed the events of that day in my head thousands of times since then. Running up the stairs to find that Peeta had locked himself inside my room, hearing the shattering of glass, the snapping of wood, feeling my heart leap in my chest.

"Don't come in here!" he had screamed, as if that was even an option without violently breaking down the door.

It was immediately clear to me that he was having one of his flashbacks, that he was sequestering himself because he didn't trust what he would do if he didn't. Then the verbal onslaught had started.

"You just couldn't help yourself could you, you little slut?" And worse. Much worse. I had clenched my eyes shut, my body limp against the door, unable to move, condemning myself to listen to every profane insult, every manic rant.

_He's not himself_, I had tried to comfort myself. _He doesn't mean what he says_. But deep down I didn't doubt him feeling this way, wanting to call me these names, as if these thoughts were already sitting in the corner of his mind right below the surface, surging forward as soon as the madness descended and eliminated his inhibitions.

I had slowly sunk to the floor, to the growls of "mutt," "bitch," and "whore," unable to concentrate on anything but the hatred in his voice. My body trembled at every anguished cry, knowing he was somehow harming himself in an attempt to regain control. I knew that I had caused it, all of it.

After what had seemed like endless minutes, suddenly the room had gone eerily silent. I wondered if I should go downstairs, if I should arm myself in some way. But when I heard him unlock the door, the turn of the doorknob, I remained motionless. By the time he emerged, I was still on the floor, a helpless victim, but by the way he held himself, it seemed his sanity had returned.

He held the small suitcase in his hand that he had brought here only a few short days before. His skin was ashen, his eyes bloodshot; he looked almost feverish.

He had muttered an apology about the state of my bedroom as he rushed past me without making eye contact, that he would be back later to fix the damages, but he couldn't now, he had to leave. He didn't feel well, he said. That sometimes after a flashback that extreme he became physically sick.

I made no effort to stop him, knowing he needed to be alone, and instead spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the mess he had left behind. My vanity mirror lay destroyed, thick shards of glass staining the carpet. My night table had been thrown to the floor, its contents either scattered or broken, the covers and sheets strewn from the bed. My favorite hunting bow was snapped into two in the corner, an action I refused to believe lacked some intention.

I waited for the weight of the situation to hit me, to force me to break down in tears, to curl up in a ball on my bed and refuse to move for hours, but I found if I kept moving, if I focused on restoring my room and nothing else, I was able to remain inexplicably calm.

_This isn't over_, I remember thinking._ This can all be sorted out_. I found myself feeling almost grateful that Peeta had broken down, destroyed my property, had said those terrible things to me, almost as if it had helped to even the playing field, even if only slightly. I had hurt him, but now he had hurt me. Not to the same extent, but he would feel guilty, he would come back to talk to me... I knew it.

He did return, much later in the evening. I had almost given up that he would that day and was about to go to bed when I heard the sound of his shoes on the gravel of my walkway. I jumped to my feet, a warm hopefulness spreading throughout my insides, feeling certain somehow that we could talk things through, reach some kind of understanding.

But when I opened the door, he entered without a glance in my direction, an identical vanity mirror to the one he had broken in his arms. He of course had the same one at his house - the houses in the Victor's Village were all more or less carbon copies of one another with the same layout and furniture.

Wordlessly he began to carry it up the stairs. I followed him into my room, watching as he placed it in the exact spot the other had been. He turned to look at the spotless room, all trace of his earlier episode removed.

"I would have cleaned," he said.

"No need. It gave me something to do..." When he didn't respond, I moved slightly towards him. "Are you feeling better?"

He shrugged, his long hair falling in waves across his forehead. His eyes darted nervously around the room, looking anywhere but at me; it was clear he didn't want to be there, that he had come out of some sense of obligation, but now that he saw everything was in order, he wanted to leave.

"That was the worst one you've had in awhile, right?" It was a terrible attempt at conversation, but I honestly didn't know what else to say. I felt like with every second he stood there in silence, he drifted further and further away from me.

"During my hijacking, Snow would show me footage of you. There was a clip of you and Gale kissing that he would force me to watch all the time. It seemed to be shot by the fence near the entrance to the woods. Until today I had never known if it was real or if he had doctored it to mess with me. But when I saw you two earlier... I knew it had been real." His voice was shaky, he still looked pale and unwell all of those hours later. A sickening guilt consumed me.

"Anyway, I think that's why my flashback was so strong," he said quietly. "Like I said, he showed me that image constantly, it became one of my more deep-seated memories of you. I guess I didn't realize how I would react if I ever actually saw you two in person."

"Peeta, I'm so sorry, the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you." I stepped towards him, and his immediate reaction was to take a step back and away from me. "Gale's gone now, he left. Please, there has to be a way to put this behind us, to move past this."

His lips formed a sad smile, a smile that still haunts me when I close my eyes. "We both know there isn't."

"You told me to kiss him," I cried out, but my voice lacked conviction. I was already defeated and I knew it, any remaining hope in the pit of my stomach dissipating.

"And what did you find out when you did?" He looked at me for the first time since arriving, and I almost cringed at the transformation in his eyes, the way he stared at me now, all affection for me obliterated.

"I don't love him," I blurted out, because it was the only thing that I was sure of in that moment. "I didn't feel love when I kissed him."

"I believe that," he said, and then his back was to me. "Because you don't love anyone but yourself."

Then he left. I called after him once, maybe twice, as he descended my stairs, after he walked out the door, but he never looked back.

The nights are the hardest. I'm lucky if I sleep more than a couple of consecutive hours, and when I do, the night terrors are so vivid that I wake up in a cold sweat, shrieking to a dark, empty room. Sometimes the screams are loud enough that I swear he must hear me from down the road.

I have felt every emotion there is to feel about him, or at least it seems that way. Anger. Resentment. Guilt. Longing. Despair. Often I begin the day feeling bad for myself, but by the end of the day there is only regret. I miss him terribly, in a way I didn't know I could miss someone who is still living, who is only feet away.

Considering how close we live, it's amazing how I never run into him. I hunt and take walks constantly, making sure I pass his house several times a day. Sometimes I knock at his door. Other times I leave a piece of game I caught for him, hoping he will use it for his dinner. Once I even tried to let myself in, but it was locked._ I've lost it, I must be going mad_, I think every time I stand helplessly on his front porch, like a scared child. If he's home, he makes no effort to respond to me, but after a week or so has passed, I begin to suspect that often he isn't home. I torture myself thinking about where he might be, who he might be with.

Gale did call the night of the day he left the way he said he would, and has called every night since then. To be honest, it is one of the only things I look forward to anymore, although sometimes I feel it's simply because it's often my only human contact of the day. Mostly he talks about his job and I listen, or pretend to listen depending on how distracted I am that night. I never feel like I have much to say. I would want to talk about Peeta if I had the chance, but Gale is obviously the last person I would want to have that kind of a conversation with.

One night, however, Gale catches my attention with a familiar name.

"There's a number of people moving back to 12 in the upcoming weeks. Guess who should be arriving in the next couple of days," he says.

"Hm?" I have zoned out again, but manage to piece together the last words of his sentence. "Who?"

"You're supposed to guess."

"I'm not in the mood for a guessing game," I mutter.

"Delly Cartwright."

It takes me a moment to match the face to the name. Delly, Peeta's childhood friend. The only person the rebels would let see him when Peeta first arrived in District 13 following his torture in the Capital. They had said she had been an integral part of his recovery process, that without her he may have been lost for good.

"Interesting," I say, but my mouth forms a grim line. It's completely unfounded, but I have never particularly liked the girl. She is perhaps the friendliest person I have ever met, but something about her connection to Peeta has always ruined her for me. Maybe it was the fact that she could reach him at a time when I couldn't, when he hated me, when I couldn't set foot near him for fear of him attacking me. Or maybe it was because in his eyes she was so perfect and pure, while the more he got to know me, I was only a disappointment. Regardless of the reason, the thought of her coming back to 12 leaves a horrible taste in my mouth.

"You should tell Peeta," Gale says. "I'm sure he'd want to see her again."

"I've told you we're not speaking anymore," I say quietly.

"Yet you haven't told me why."

"What does it matter? It is what it is."

"Forget Peeta," he says, and then his voice takes on a softer tone. "Let's talk about how much I miss you."

I roll my eyes in the darkness of my parlor, but I also smile. "Let's not and say we did."

"You're terrible to me," he says with a laugh. "I'm trying to figure out when I can come visit you. Possibly this upcoming weekend. What do you think?"

_What do I think_? A valid question. One that I'm not even sure I have the answer to. If possible, my feelings for Gale have only grown more complicated since he's left. I had wanted more from him the morning we kissed, no question. I am through pretending that I don't desire him, because I do. I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't had to run to catch his flight, what it would feel like to be with him, how it would be different from being with Peeta. But it startles me how my emotions for him don't seem to run much deeper than that. After all, I haven't seem him for as long as I've gone without seeing Peeta, but it is only Peeta that occupies my thoughts. I almost have to remind myself to think about Gale from time to time, that he is the one currently in my life, that he is perhaps my only remaining chance at happiness. Even when we are on the phone at night, I struggle to keep my attention solely on him. The same way I struggle now.

"I'm really tired all of a sudden," I say.

He sighs audibly. "Think about it, okay? I need to give them notice, and soon, if I want to take this weekend off. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay," I say. "Good night."

This is not the first time he's brought up seeing each other again. I know he is hoping this will become a regular thing, that between the kiss we shared and the fact that I am no longer involved with Peeta, a real relationship between us cannot be too far off. I wish I could say I shared his optimism.

Whether I like it or not, I have the sinking feeling that soon the choice I will have to make will not be between Peeta and Gale, but between Gale and being alone. Here I am, staving off Gale's attempts, all to give myself more time, on the off chance that Peeta will change his mind, will come running back to me, will decide to give me a second chance. But there has been little evidence over the past two weeks that this will be the case.

I crawl into bed, my heart heavy, knowing sleep is probably out of the question, but lacking the motivation to do anything else. My thoughts quickly shift once again to Peeta, but this time I am remembering the nights he shared this bed with me, the way he used to put his hands on me, the weight of his body on top of mine. God, he had made me feel so good. I ached to feel that good again. My hand glides down along my chest and then my abdomen, stopping at the waist of my silk night shorts. I think of the first time with him. The wild anticipation I had felt as he hovered over me, his member grazing my lower lips, knowing he was seconds away from entering me. I emit a sigh at the feel of my own fingers as I begin to slowly touch myself, amazed at how wet I already am at the memory. I close my eyes, sinking into my mattress as I can't help but continue. I picture the way he looked up at me with his face between my legs, the way he had alternated between methodical and hungry licks, the way my hips had arched and the pressure of his tongue had increased just enough to erase all else from my mind.

_God, what am I doing to myself?_ I think, despite the continued motion of my hand. Masturbating to the thought of someone who wants nothing to do with me, who is currently actively ignoring my existence. How masochistic, crueler than even I deserve._ I should be thinking of Gale instead. At least with him, there is still a chance of a happy ending._

I will myself to shift focus, to replace Peeta's face and body with Gale's in my mind, but I find myself stopping short. My body physically revolts at the forced visualization as my libido plummets and my stomach cramps, my hand falling limply to my side. Somehow it just doesn't work. As insignificant as this self-love experiment might be in the grand scheme of things, I feel immediately panicked.

Without quite understanding why, I turn on the light, fishing for a piece of paper and a pen in the drawer of my night table. I have to see Peeta, I decide. I have to convince him to talk to me. Even if he ultimately decides he's not interested in having me in his life, I have to try. At least one more time. He won't answer my phone calls, he won't open the door when I knock, but maybe there's another way to communicate with him. Madge used to write him letters. Maybe she had experienced the same difficulties that I'm having when he had ended things with her, when he had shut her out.

_Dear Peeta,_ I write._ I know seeing me right now is probably the last thing you want to do, but I desperately need to talk to you. If there is any part of you that still cares for me, please do me this one last favor. I will be at the entrance of town tomorrow evening at seven. Please be there._

I sign my name, frowning at the words that have flowed from my pen. Certainly not as eloquent as I had hoped, but I suppose it says what it needs to.

It is only after I have returned from slipping the note under his door that I can attempt sleep, and for the first time in weeks, I drift off the moment my head hits the pillow.

The next day is a constant mental game of "Will he or won't he?" I try not to obsess over it, to think of anything else, but I know it's impossible. I want this too much. I want him too much. If he is there at 7, I don't even know what I'm going to say to him. I just need to see him, I need him to see me, I need to know if there is any chance for the two of us.

I begin the walk into town around a quarter to 7. I walk swiftly and purposefully, giving myself an internal pep talk. _He will be there. If he ever loved me, he will be there._

And he is. I am walking into town and he is walking back from it when we see each other. He noticeably slows his pace, trying to delay the inevitable, but I don't even care, my heart stops at the sight of him. _God, he is beautiful_, I think, examining him as I continue towards him. And then,_ I would do anything to kiss him right now._

But I of course know touching is out of the question, as we come face-to-face. I will be lucky if I got a proper hello.

"Katniss," he says, forcing a smile. "How have you been?"

He sounds so fake. So unlike himself.

"Not great," I answer truthfully, hoping to communicate to him that I don't want to play this game, that I am not interested in pretending we are some casual acquaintances who have run into each other unexpectedly. "What have you been up to? I never see you. You never answer your door or any of my calls."

"Same old, nothing special. I got the rabbit you left the other day. Thank you."

"So this is how we're going to proceed?" I ask, unable to hide my irritation. "Your plan is to avoid me forever?"

"I haven't wanted to see you." His bluntness feels like a hard slap to the face, but I welcome it. I am desperate for anything but his indifference.

"I understand, but we can ease back in slowly," I say, my voice calm. "I can give you space. I'll stop dropping by your house, I'll give you as much time as you need."

He shakes his head, answering firmly. "I don't want to ease back in, Katniss, I want to move on."

My stomach literally churns at his words. "But why?" I whisper. "I made a mistake, Peeta."

Suddenly, he comes to life, his voice animated. "You see, that's just the problem. I don't want your guilt, your pity. I don't want you thinking you made a mistake. You did what you wanted to do. And that's fine, that's fair. I told you to explore your feelings for Gale, and you did. But you can't honestly expect me to want to be with you after that... after what I saw."

I swallow hard. This is not how I pictured this going. I knew he was still angry and upset, but I didn't expect him to have already made up his mind, to be so sure that we were over.

"Peeta." I reach for his hand, but his fingers feel lifeless in mine. "You have no idea how much I miss you. You're all I've thought about these past couple of weeks. You, not Gale. I need you to understand that."

He can't even look at me. I squeeze his hand, wishing I knew what he was thinking. If only I could get inside his head for even a second, maybe the formula would be there, of what to do and say, how to win him back.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, as he gently pulls his hand away, as he takes a step back. "I'm sorry if I'm hurting you. You deserve happiness, and I do too. I just don't think that happiness is with each other."

"We were happy," I say weakly, but now I can't look at him either. I was prepared for yelling, screaming, nasty words, but this is so much worse.

"We didn't know what we were," he says. "But I know now. Things have gotten a lot clearer for me, and I know they will for you too." He hesitates for a moment and then says, "If you aren't pursuing things with Gale on my account, please know that that's not what I want."

"Funny," I say, and our eyes finally meet, "You think I belong with him. He thinks I belong with him. But it doesn't matter what I think, does it?"

When he doesn't respond, I continue. "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure that you ever wanted to be with me. You urged me to kiss him, to spend time with him, all the while knowing what would happen. Almost like you wanted it to happen, to be proven right, even if it destroyed us in the process. Who does that? And now I'm standing in front of you, pleading with you, telling you that it's you who I want, and you are still passing me off to him."

"I urged you to kiss him, because I knew you wanted to kiss him," he snaps. "And judging from what I saw, you liked it quite a bit. I'm not playing these games, Katniss." He looks away, disgusted. "You can't have both of us, that's not the way it works. And while I'm flattered that you 'want' me more, I've told you before, that that isn't good enough. Not for me, not anymore."

"What would be good enough?" I ask quietly. "I can't undo what's already been done. The way I see it, from this point forward, whatever decision I make, I lose. So tell me, what would be good enough?"

He doesn't have an answer. So that's that then. There is nothing I can do. We can't be fixed. I guess this is what I needed, to hear it in person.

"I hope one day we can be friends again," I say. Not because I mean it, but because it seems like the only civil thing to say in a situation as fucked-up as this one.

"Me too," he replies.

We begin to walk back together, but soon I'm walking faster and faster, until he drops significantly behind me. When I see my house in the distance I break out into a run. I don't care how ridiculous I look, I only care that he is nowhere near me, that I can make it inside before I start to cry.

That night when Gale calls, I tell him yes. He says perfect, because he can be here even sooner than he expected. Tomorrow, if I want.

I change my bedsheets, my comforter, the towels in my bathroom, anything that I feel that Peeta may have touched or used. I tell Gale in a last-minute phone call before his flight takes off that it's silly for him to stay with someone else while he's here, that he can stay with me.

When he sets foot through my door on Thursday night, I throw my arms around him, hugging him close to me. He smells like a musky cologne, a scent that I decide I want to smell on my own skin when I wake up in the morning.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I quiet him, my finger on his lips.

"Just kiss me," I say, but instead of waiting, I kiss him. He clasps my body tightly against his in response as his mouth eagerly explores mine. I grip his shoulders, his arms, his back, feeling his taut muscles, my attempts to deepen our kisses so violent that our front teeth momentarily bang together. I ignore the shooting pain, and go after him just as hard, my appetite at the moment feeling frustratingly insatiable. He could be anyone right now. I don't care, I just need him. I need to feel him wanting me.

My hands lower to his waist, the fingers of one slipping through his belt loop to tug him closer and the other groping at his crotch. He is rock hard and groans as I squeeze him in my hand. I bite his lower lip, my urgency contagious as he scoops me up into his arms. He carries me into the living room and throws me onto the couch, his hand hastily undoing his belt buckle and unzipping his pants as he climbs on top of me. He roughly undresses me between burning kisses, yanking at my panties so forcibly that he rips them off instead of removing them. I bend my knees and spread my legs for him. I feel like someone else, utterly removed from myself, and in this moment I don't care about a single person or thing.

His breathing heavy, he doesn't bother to take off his pants, revealing his erection through the fly of his jeans. He is somewhat bigger than Peeta, and thicker, his manhood throbbing with a slight upward curve.

I lift my shirt above my head and throw it at him playfully. "What are you waiting for?" I ask.

Before I can finish my question he slides his entire length into me, and I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me, the fullness of him overwhelming. He begins to thrust in and out, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed until he is fucking me at a dizzying pace. I can't stop moaning from the relentless pressure, but I can't decide if I like it. I find myself both wishing he would slow down and hoping desperately that he doesn't stop, my hips rising to meet his as I adjust to his frenzied rhythm.

"Do you like it like this?" he asks, but he's not looking for an answer as he stares down at me, his eyes glazed over with passion.

I move his hand to my breast in response and he tugs at my nipples, his mouth lowering to meet mine. We pant as our tongues duel one another, and I cry out when he unexpectedly lifts my legs so that he can pound deeper inside of me. He pushes into me, harder, faster, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming, the intensity almost too much. He brings my legs up even further so that my feet rest on his shoulders and with one last thrust, he spills into me with a satisfied grunt.

His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, his grey eyes shining as he smiles down at me, as he caresses my cheek with his hand.

"Sorry I didn't wait for you," he murmurs, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. "I'll make it up to you later."

I stare back at him, concentrating on making sure my expression is stoic, that none of my inner thoughts become transparent on my face. Despite having him still inside of me, I feel shockingly empty and even more dissatisfied than when we started. I thought being with Gale would help distract me, would make me feel better. That it would help erase the tormented need for Peeta, that it would give me hope that the void Peeta left could eventually be filled, but it had achieved none of those things. If anything, I feel more alone now than ever.

Peeta had gotten annoyed when I had called kissing Gale a mistake, but that's exactly what it had been. There was no doubt in my mind at this moment: I had made a horrible mistake.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

I feel his arms around me before I fully wake up, before I open my eyes. I lazily stretch, elongating my torso and feeling my ribcage expand, inhaling deeply before exhaling with a content sigh. His arm drapes across my exposed waist, scooping my body back towards his, creating a pocket for me against his chest. I smile to myself as I begin to feel the heat of the sun hit my skin. This has to be the perfect way to wake up; there are few things more satisfying than being in his arms.

But just then, my eyes flutter wide open, I jolt up in bed. I turn to look at him, and confirm my realization. God help me, in my half-unconscious, dreamlike state, I had thought I was with Peeta just now.

"What's wrong?" Gale asks groggily, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the incoming stream of sunlight.

Everything. Everything is wrong. But I say, "Nothing," and lean back cautiously, lying down just close enough so that we are next to one another but not touching

"You tossed and turned all night," he says with a groan. "A bunch of times you screamed, it almost gave me a heart attack. You must have been having nightmares."

"Well yeah, I always have nightmares." I turn to look at him, my stare judgemental, but I guess he really doesn't know this side of me. We had never spent the night together before. I'd never shared with him the extent of my insomnia, my night terrors, that for the longest time I was afraid to even close my eyes. Peeta knew these things, of course. He knew and accepted them without question, without having to ask, understanding in a way that no one else really could. I had taken that for granted. Along with everything else.

"Can't Dr. Aurelius prescribe you something for that?"

"You mean like sleeping pills? I've tried... They only knock you out for a couple of hours at best. And I actually found my dreams were worse on them. They were more vivid."

"What do you dream about?" he murmurs, turning on his side so that his body faces mine. He reaches for me again.

The feel of his hand on the bare skin of my back almost makes me flinch. I really wish I had clothing on. I really wish he had clothing on. I'm not comfortable enough to be lying here with him like this._ But you were comfortable enough to have sex with him. Twice,_ I remind myself, practically cringing at the inner voice in my head, at my own actions.

"All of the terrible things I've seen. All of the terrible things I've done."

He frowns, as he brings his hand to my face. There is genuine concern in his eyes, but I immediately resent the way he is looking at me. He pities me. He looks at me as if I'm broken, as if I need saving.

"You really need to let go of all that. It's over now," he says.

This is Gale's attempt at being comforting, but I find myself resisting the urge to smack him across the face. Hard. _What the fuck do you know?_ I feel like screaming. He's never had to participate in the Games, to watch innocent children die around him, to know you will either be the next to kill or be killed. He's never known that heightened fear, that panic that never really goes away, that self-hatred because you know when it came down to it, you did whatever it took to stay alive. He wasn't responsible for the annihilation of thousands of people, of entire districts, because he was the face of the rebellion. He hadn't lost his only sister, the most important person to him in the world. He didn't know what it was like to have everyone think he was mentally unstable, borderline dangerous even. Then again, something tells me even if he had experienced all of these things... he might still sleep easy.

"I'm not like you," I mutter, annoyed. "I never wanted to be part of any of it - the Games, the rebellion. Nothing good came from it. It ruined my life."

"That's a bit extreme. To say nothing good came from it. We overthrew the Capital. We're safe now. We gave the people a democracy, freedom." He continues to frown at me, to disapprove. "I'm sorry you ever had to be a part of it, but there will never be a Games again because of what we fought for."

I laugh, and it comes out chilling and nasty. "You would believe something like that. Of course you would. The power is already going to your head. You don't realize that you're becoming exactly who you always claimed to hate."

He stares at me long and hard, his eyes stormy. I don't know why I feel the need to challenge him like this, to antagonize him. I don't know why he makes me so angry, why he always seems to bring out the worst in me. Until recently I had attributed some of the aggression I felt towards him as misplaced passion, as an underlying desire, but now that we have been intimate, I'm not so sure.

Last night had not gone as anticipated, or rather, it had gone exactly how I had feared it would. After our tryst on the couch, I had felt shredded and completely unnerved. I tried to shake it off, to convince myself that I was being overly dramatic. It was natural to feel a little weird about it, I had told myself, it was only our first time together after years of ambiguity over the status of our relationship and I still had strong feelings for someone else which certainly didn't help the matter. It would get better. This was the man I had always imagined I would end up with, after all. I would have ended up marrying him if Peeta had never entered my life, everyone around us had never had any doubt that we belonged together. We had been so close for so long.

So why had the sex felt so invasive, so impersonal? Before we went to bed, he had turned to me again, hungry and determined, his body easily overpowering mine. I had welcomed the second attempt, anxious to enjoy it, frantic to be proven wrong about the sneaking suspicions already beginning to fester in my mind. I had kissed him with all of the affection I could muster, I had closed my eyes and instructed myself to shut out any other thoughts, to only concentrate on the feel of his mouth, his hands, his legs entwined with mine. He took things slower the second time, touched me more, clearly wanting me to achieve orgasm, but it was obvious he liked his sex rough, that when he wasn't pounding away at me, it was because he was visibly holding himself back.

I spent the entirety of our lovemaking comparing his every move to Peeta's. The way he kissed me was often out of sync with my own kisses and too forceful, his fondling of my breasts clumsy, when he was inside of me I felt like we couldn't find the right position, almost like he was too big for me and hitting the wrong spot. Later he had gone down on me for what felt like an hour, resolved to make me come when I couldn't through intercourse, but his efforts were futile, I couldn't get myself there. It's not that it didn't feel good, but it was different, so different from the way I had received it before, and I couldn't help but crave Peeta's tongue instead. He hadn't been able to hide the disappointment on his face when I finally convinced him to stop, but I somehow knew it was due more to a feeling of personal failure than a need to satisfy me.

By the time we went to sleep we were both frustrated although we pretended we weren't. I can't help but think that part of my anger towards him now is left over from that frustration last night. It isn't just that I hadn't been able to reach completion with him. Two times together is hardly enough to make a rash judgment about our sexual compatibility. It's the way I felt following being with him, the reaction I felt when he climaxed inside of me. The resentment. Always the resentment that I feel towards him.

I refocus on his face, his eyes still glued to mine. I wish he didn't know me so well, that he couldn't so effortlessly read my thoughts.

"You have so much anger towards me," he says, and there is hurt in his voice. "Why?"

"I'm sorry. I haven't felt like myself lately," I say, closing my eyes to shut him out, but feeling a rare twinge of guilt about the way I've spoken to him, the way I'm treating him. Gale is no less deserving of love than Peeta is, than I am. It's not his fault that I don't love him anymore. That my feelings for him have changed so much over the past year and fluctuated even more drastically in the last 24 hours, that I am struggling, and failing, to artificially implant them once again.

"Is this about last night?" he asks softly. "I know it wasn't good for you."

"That's not true," I say, opening my eyes once more to meet his.

He leans in to press a kiss to the side of my neck, and then whispers, almost as if he doesn't want to hear the words out loud. "Did you come when you were with Peeta?"

I squirm uncomfortably. Why must Gale always ask these prying questions, even when he knows he won't like the answers? Goddamnit, he reminds me so much of myself, and I don't like it. It just doesn't work.

I feel too weary to sugarcoat my answer, and I find myself irritated to even hear Peeta's name come out of his mouth. "Yes. There. Are you happy now?"

"Why would that make me happy?" he mumbles, but he presses another kiss, this time to my lips. "Listen," he says, pulling away to look at me. "I don't know what happened between you two. I don't know why you ended things with him, and I don't care. I don't care what you did together, I don't care how many times he made you come, that's irrelevant now. What matters is that I love you, that we're together now."

I gulp at his words, at how misled he is with his conclusions about Peeta and me. He is unflinchingly confident, he never doubts that we are meant to be together the way Peeta always did. It's arrogance, yes, but it's also a kind of blind faith that I can't help but admire. It is so naive of him to automatically assume that Peeta and I are not talking because I broke things off, to believe that I've chosen him without question, but that's the way Gale is.

I sigh, my head hurting at how impossibly tangled this triangle has really become.

"You're restless with all this talk, I know," he says with a small smile. "Let's go to the woods and catch something for dinner."

I nod, grateful that we can put a close to this conversation, at least for now.

The rest of the afternoon I try to humor him, to take interest in his ongoings in District 2, in the rebellion's reconstruction efforts. I ask him questions that will keep him talking. I smile when I'm supposed to, laugh when he makes a joke, raise my eyebrows in surprise when he tries to impress me with some statistic or little-known gossip.

The influx of people returning to 12 comes up, and I can't help but ask about something that has been plaguing me for days.

"These people that are coming back, I know you mentioned Delly Cartwright for example, where exactly are they going? Delly's house was in the center of town, it was destroyed along with all of the others. Her parents are gone. Where is she even staying?"

"They have started to rebuild, but you're right, almost all of the houses have been destroyed, there's a lot of work to be done. Most of the ones planning on returning are waiting it out a little longer. I guess technically if she was one of the first people to submit a request for housing, it could be ready in the next week or so. I don't know what someone like Delly is doing to be honest," he says with a shrug. "She's probably staying with someone in the meantime."

"Who would she even know around here anymore," I muse aloud, unable to think of a single damn person. Just him.

"Who knows. Although knowing Delly, she'll probably make friends pretty quickly." He smirks to himself as he says it, immediately catching my attention.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"You really were out of it while we were in 13, weren't you?" he says, eyebrows raised. "She likes to sleep around, that's all."

"Seriously?" I stop in my tracks, the news instantly unsettling me. "She always seemed like such a nice, wholesome girl."

"She is," Gale says. "Well, maybe not wholesome depending on your definition, but she's a perfectly nice girl. It's not like she's some homewrecker. But it was kinda common knowledge in 13 that if one of the single guys wanted to hook up that night, Delly's door was usually open."

"What the fuck," I mutter to myself. This is just what I need. Because I know she is going to meet up with Peeta once she is here, if she hasn't already. I just know it. There is no one else here that she knows anymore... And Peeta has a bit of a history of distracting himself with a pretty face when it comes to trying to get over me, now doesn't he? God, the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.

"What do you care?" He laughs. "And no, I never slept with her, if that's what you're thinking."

It wasn't what I was thinking, but good to know.

"I'd like to see her again," I say, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Any chance you could find out any more information with your big time connections?"

"Since when are you so interested in her?" he asks, turning to look at me quizzically. "You never seemed to care one way or the other about her before."

I shrug, looking off in the distance. "It gets lonely around here."

He nods, as if my answer is perfectly valid. "I'll see what I can find out, okay?"

"Thanks," I say.

I don't even know what I'm thinking I'll say to her if I see her._ Hey, how have you been? By the way, don't even think about hooking up with Peeta. He may hate me and never want to talk to me again, but he's mine?_ Ugh. Somehow I doubt I'd garner much sympathy, even from someone as nonjudgmental as Delly. Especially now that I've slept with Gale. I don't have a chance in hell, do I?

The sun begins to set as we make our way back into town. I have grown moody and silent, a deep sadness taking hold of me. If it's not Delly that Peeta turns to, it will be someone else. He's too good of a person to be alone for too long. He doesn't deserve to be alone. But I can't bear the thought of it... the fact that we live along the same road, that I will have to watch him move on before my very eyes. In return, he will have to see Gale - if not this weekend, another visit. Will he even care? Peeta more or less told me that I was wasting my time if I was waiting for him, that I should pursue things with Gale, that I should move forward, the way he intended to do. But he couldn't mean it... he couldn't possibly want to see me happy with someone else, after all we had been through and shared. Could he?

And Gale. What exactly is going on between us? He thinks we are together, smugly ignoring what I previously had with Peeta as an insignificant fling. I, on the other hand, am desperately trying to find a way for us to reconnect, to unearth the feelings I knew I once had for him, but I know the fact that I even have to try, that it is such a struggle, is a terrible sign. I'm no expert on love, but I know it can't be forced. I know it's not supposed to feel like this, the way Gale and I are together. I should be happy to be with him, I should feel something so much stronger than what I do when he kisses me, when he makes love to me. I shouldn't be thinking of another person constantly, wishing every moment spent with Gale is instead a moment spent with him.

But what choice do I have at this point? If Peeta is serious about moving on, about not wanting to give us a second chance, then what option am I left with other than to force myself to move on as well? Maybe this is the punishment I deserve, the price I will have to pay for not fully committing to Peeta when I had the chance. To instead have to spend my life with someone I do not truly love. If Gale and I stay together maybe he will eventually move back here, or maybe I will go to 2 to live with him. Maybe I will just turn my back on everything, on all the memories of the people I loved and lost.

I am so distracted by my thoughts, I almost don't see them. It is Gale who alerts me just in time.

"Speak of the devil," he says. "Guess I don't have to make those phone calls after all. Look, there she is."

My head snaps up to see none other than Delly in the distance, standing on the front porch of Peeta's house. Peeta is next to her, unlocking the door, about to step inside.

"Delly!" I scream out as loud as I can, frantic to catch them before they disappear inside the house, to make my presence known somehow.

I see Peeta's body freeze in the doorway at the sound of my voice, but Delly spins around, a huge grin lighting up her face as she recognizes Gale and me.

"Oh my goodness!" she squeals with delight, as we make our way over to them. "It's like a reunion!"

She hugs me tightly and then Gale, her smile so infectious, I find myself smiling too.

Then I glance at Peeta, and that same strange, sweetly disorienting feeling comes over me as the time I last saw him at the entrance of town. My heart seems to stop before picking up again and beating furiously, I feel my brain momentarily shut down and I forget to breathe for several seconds. I fight the desire to jump into his arms, to feel them envelope around me. But then I pull myself back, back to the present moment, where we are not alone, but with Gale and Delly, where we are not together anymore.

Peeta is flustered as he nods at Gale and mutters a hasty hello in my direction. His door remains wide open, and he stands by it awkwardly, as if hoping to stealthily dart inside and escape when we aren't looking.

"Peeta didn't even tell me you were back here," Delly says to me, turning to playfully slap his arm.

I cringe at their contact, and a look of unmistakable guilt crosses Peeta's face, a look I neither miss nor take lightly.

"I've been back for a couple of months now actually. Strange, Peeta never told me you were coming back either. You know how boys can be," I say with a forced laugh. "When did you get back?"

"Oh, only two days ago. My old house should be ready to move into in a week or so, but I wanted to get back earlier to see if I could help out with anything. Peeta's letting me stay with him in the meantime." She turns to smile at him.

"How nice," I say, but my eyes are on Peeta, not her. He looks pale, queasy even.

"And Gale!" Delly's excitement shifts. "You're here too?"

"I'm living in District 2 actually, working for the government there," he says. "Just visiting at the moment."

"Well, this is just wonderful," she announces. "We all have to sit down and catch up."

She turns to Peeta expectantly, knowing it's not her place to invite us in, but obviously confused about why he hasn't yet.

"Yes, we will have to do that sometime," Peeta says with a tight smile. "It looks like you two have had a long day of hunting though, I'm sure you'll want to get back and unwind for tonight."

His curtness takes me back for a second, even if I was expecting it, but I recover quickly. "It's true," I say, but I take Delly's hand, emphatically pressing it between mine. "It really is so good to see you. Please don't be a stranger. Us girls have to stick together."

Her eyes light up as she nods vigorously. "Absolutely."

"We'll be in touch," I say with a wave.

Gale and Delly both turn, and in this only moment of pseudo-privacy I catch Peeta's eyes. He stares at me darkly and mouths, "We need to talk," before gesturing with his hand to his ear that he will call me. There is something about the intensity with which he watches me that makes me nervous, and I can't tell if he is angry or not, but I nod before turning away.

Gale waits until we are down the road and out of earshot to speak. "Who are you and what have you done with Katniss Everdeen?"

When we return to my house Gale and I shower, cook dinner and then finally sit down to eat. His hand reaches under the table to stroke my inner thigh on more than one occasion, but I pretend to be deep in thought, to barely notice.

"So that was interesting before," he says, his voice seeming to boom as it shatters the room's silence. It works. He has my attention.

"What was?"

"You wanting to start a girl's club with Delly, for one," he says.

I laugh, but shoot him a warning glance.

"The fact that you and Peeta obviously did not end things at all civilly, for another."

I shrug, concentrating on the remainders on my plate, as I move my food around with my fork. "You knew we weren't speaking. What did you expect?"

"Yet you just had to run up there. Why?"

"I told you," I say, beginning to feel uncomfortable with where this conversation is going, "I wanted to see Delly again, to know where she was staying. That was my chance."

"And you don't care that she's staying with Peeta, huh? That doesn't bother you?"

"You bother me," I snap, rising to my feet to scrape the remaining food on my plate into the garbage. Suddenly I've lost my appetite.

He grabs my wrist before I can turn to leave the room, yanking me towards him and then pulling me roughly down into his lap.

"I don't really like the way you've been speaking to me," he says. His tone is almost threatening, but when I look into his eyes I can see that it's because he himself feels threatened. I don't think I was as discreet as I imagined I'd been at Peeta's just now. Perhaps the picture Gale has painted himself about Peeta and me is beginning to crack.

"Well, I don't like when you grab me like that," I bark, gingerly fingering my wrist.

He sighs, his arms loosely encircling my waist. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice softening. "I just don't know what's going on with you today. You've been snapping at me over everything, it's putting me in a bad mood."

The phone rings just then, and I breathe an inner sigh of relief. I push away from him, disappearing into the next room.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Can you meet me now?" Peeta asks, jumping straight to business. "You can pick where."

"How about the same spot as last time?"

"Alright," he says. "I'm leaving my house now."

I have difficulty even putting the phone back on to its charger, my hand is shaking so much. Is he angry? He must be... This isn't Peeta's style to create an opportunity for a confrontation like this. Typically he just ignores and avoids me, suppresses his emotions until I verbally beat them out of him. The way he had looked at me in front of his house earlier with that dark, intense stare, I knew he had something serious to talk to me about. Something that couldn't be left to chance. He was probably going to tell me to stay the fuck away from him. That's probably what I would do if I was him, I realize with a sigh. But there was still a part of me buried deep down, an ignorant, foolish hope within me, that wonders if it is something more, if when he had seen me again today something had stirred up inside of him the same way it had stirred up inside of me.

I tell Gale I have to go visit Greasy Sae, that her granddaughter is running a fever and that I have some leftover medicine of my mother's that might help. It's such a dumb lie, one that can so easily be found out, but I can't think clearly. "Do you want me to come?" he asks. No, hell no, I don't. But I say, "I might need you here. In case there's something else I need you to run over."

At the rate I'm going, by the end of this weekend I may have not only lost Peeta, but Gale as well. If he discovers that I'm lying to him in order to sneak off in the night to meet Peeta, he'll be furious. But God help me, part of me just doesn't care. If Gale stormed out and left me, I don't know if I would feel much of anything at all right now. Lonely, maybe, but I feel lonely now. What's the difference?

I can't remember the last time I felt this nervous, this on edge. It's a more grating anxiety than the last time I met up with him like this, that's for sure._ Because now he's the one who wants to speak to you, because you have no idea what he's going to say_, my inner voice taunts me.

He is already there when I arrive. He is sitting on a bench by the side of the street, hunched over, arms on his knees, hands clasped, feet apart. I walk towards him and he raises his head at the sound of my footsteps.

There's no pretension this time around. He doesn't smile or even greet me, he just pats the spot on the bench next to him.

I sit down slowly, my stomach in knots, and stare straight ahead, waiting for him to speak first.

He takes a deep breath and then begins. "I need to know what that was about before. I can't figure it out. We both know you couldn't care less about Delly."

The silence feels deafening as I probe my brain for an appropriate answer.

"I don't know if it's because you wanted me to see you with Gale," he continues, "or if you wanted to try and embarrass me in front of Delly, or what, but it seems like we have to establish some ground rules."

"I didn't know she was coming here, and then I see her on your doorstep, why wouldn't I be curious?" I ask, defensively. But then I correct myself, "Okay, I actually did know she was coming back to 12. But the fact that she's staying with you..."

"What about it?" His voice is steadfast, but he turns to look at me with that same burning stare. "I deserve to move on too, Katniss."

"With Delly?" I can't help but ask incredulously. "Really, Peeta?"

"This may never turn into anything serious, but I don't care," he answers stubbornly. "That's not really what I'm looking for right now."

"You're looking for meaningless sex," I say bluntly, mirroring his lack of emotion when I speak. Neither of us wants this to turn into a screaming match.

"I'm looking for relief," he says with a sigh. "You don't understand because you have somebody else. Speaking of which, please don't parade him in front of my house. This is hard enough for me, without you bringing him to my doorstep. I mean really, Katniss." He shakes his head before slumping forward again and taking it in his hands. "I know we said we could be friends again someday, but this is not the time. I am not ready to see him, to see you with him."

"It's not the way it looks," I murmur softly. "You're not the only one who's hurt and is looking for a way to escape it."

"Does this form of escape also involve a lack of clothes?" he mutters, before quickly adding, "Actually, don't answer that. I really don't want to know."

"I came up to your doorstep today because the thought of you being with her makes me sick to my stomach," I blurt out. "The thought of you being with anyone else... it kills me."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise for a fleeting moment, but then returns to his somber expression. "You'd be surprised what you can endure if you have to..." He trails off. "Sometimes you don't have a choice."

"But we do have a choice. This whole situation just doesn't make any sense to me." I can feel myself losing it now, becoming hysterical. "You don't want to see me with him, I sure as hell don't want to see you with her. I literally can't stop thinking about you. Why aren't we together?"

I knew I couldn't do it, I knew I couldn't stay calm and collected the way he is. Because now the agitation is raw in my voice, I am fighting back tears as I squint into the pitch-black darkness that surrounds us. I can't pretend that I don't care, that he isn't the most important person in my life right now. He means too much to me, and I feel like every time we talk I have to suffer through losing him all over again.

"Katniss." He gently touches my arm. "Look at me."

I quickly wipe my eyes against the crook of my arm before I turn to him, but I'm powerless to stop the next salty droplet that begins to slowly slide down my left cheek.

I feel ashamed as he smears it away with his thumb, as he crinkles his forehead in concern. This is not who I want to be, some blubbering idiot who refuses to let go of what is already no longer hers.

"You're making this so hard on yourself. Why?" His voice is low and soothing as he begins to stroke my hair. "I know you care about me, I do. But it's okay that this is over, for us both to move on to other people. Gale loves you, he'll treat you well." He tries to smile reassuringly at me, but he only looks broken. "I don't regret what happened between us. It was perfect while it lasted."

I look back at him, hurt and confused for several seconds, but then it hits me. He still think this is about my guilt, my pity, my undeserved possessiveness over him. He doesn't know. Hell, I don't think I 100% knew until this very moment.

"Peeta." I guide his hand from my face and bring it down to my lap, gripping it tightly in mine. "Do you really not see it? I'm in love with you."

His eyes widen, and he looks genuinely shocked. But not in a good way.

"Don't say that," he says, his lips clamping firmly together. "Please don't."

"Why? Because you don't believe me or because you don't feel the same?" I demand, although my resolve is beginning to weaken.

"Because you're torturing me." Fresh pain enters the blues of his eyes.

"You're torturing yourself," I whisper, and without thinking about it a moment longer, I tug his hand, pulling him towards me. I close my eyes, shielding out any and all consequences, and I press my lips to his.

I'm almost certain he is going to pull violently back, that he will tear himself away from me. And he seems to want to at first, but then a shift comes over him, the tension leaving his body as he leans forward, cradling my head with his hands.

Our kiss is long, warm, and soft. Every nerve ending in my body seems to stand on end at the contact. I sneak a quick peek at him in the middle of it, but when I see that his eyes are also closed, I shut mine again, returning to the now comforting darkness, blissfully sinking into him.

The kiss finally ends, and fearing he will break away, I try to explain myself. "Peeta, I-"

But he cuts me off with another kiss, his mouth hungry on mine. This one is different, more urgent, as if he is making up for lost time. I snake my arms around his neck and press against him, my head swimming with a euphoria I hardly recognize. He tastes like sugar and cinnamon and desire. His tongue dances around mine as he deepens the kiss, his hand sliding down and under my shirt so that it rests on my hip. His touch feels hot against my cool skin, and a tingle of anticipation runs down my spine.

He shakily exhales as I move to straddle his waist. I don't care where we are, I have never wanted anything in my life the way I want him right now.

"Katniss," he says, as if he wants to tell me something, but instead a soft moan escapes his lips as I flick my tongue around his, drawing his willing tongue into my mouth and sucking on it gently, hoping this brings back the same tantalizing memory for him that it does for me.

"I love you," I say in between ravenous mouthfuls. Now that I can put the way I feel for him into words, I can't keep it to myself, I want to tell him over and over again. "I love you, I love you."

He hugs me tightly in response, lowering his mouth to press tender kisses along my neck. I can feel him grow hard beneath me and I grind slowly against him, my breath quickening.

"Make love to me," I sigh.

"Where?" he asks.

"Here. The grass. Anywhere."

"Your house," he says, his hands climbing to cup my breasts.

I shake my head. "No, here."

He pulls away to look at me now, his eyes narrowed, his breathing still heavy. "Why can't we go to your house?"

All it takes is my hesitation for it to suddenly dawn on him. "Is Gale staying with you?"

I had assumed he knew, but clearly this is not the case, as some of the color drains from his face. My silence is again enough of an answer as he takes a sharp intake of air, momentarily closing his eyes.

"Damnit, Katniss," he mutters.

I move to kiss him again, to try to divert his attention once more, but he shakes his head, his hand forming a barrier between our chests.

"I should have known, I'm such an idiot," he says.

"Stop it," I say with a groan. "That doesn't change anything I've said tonight. Besides, your house isn't exactly empty either, remember? Delly's there."

"Yeah," he answers weakly.

He removes his protective hand, and I fall against his chest as his arms surround me. Still, I know the moment between us has passed, as if by saying their names we have breathed life back into them.

"What now, what's our next move?" I ask. Suddenly I am put off by how black the night is, how we can barely see ten feet in any direction. Suddenly I'm afraid again.

"I don't know," he says and he once again sounds distant. "I guess we sleep on it."

While this would be sound advice to some, it seems almost comical considering the circumstances. Sure, let's 'sleep on it' while we sleep next to other people. I think of Gale waiting for me at home, and I am filled with dread. I think of Peeta returning to his house with Delly there and I feel even worse.

"Did you mean it?" Peeta asks quietly. "Do you really love me?"

"Yes," I say. "Do you love me?"

He squeezes me tightly as he plants a kiss to my forehead and then my lips, lingering for several seconds before he whispers, "Of course I do."

If I didn't know better, I would say this night was perfect. But there are still details to be hashed out, ties to be severed, sore feelings that won't mend overnight. We are high on one another right now, on our confessions of love at the most critical moment, just when everything between us had felt utterly hopeless. But he will want to know about what happened with Gale, I will want to know about Delly... we will have to grow to trust one another again. And that is one thing that I am certain is easier said than done.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

I've heard it said that to possess love is to have everything. On the contrary, I've also heard that sometimes no matter how much you love somebody, it often isn't enough. I wonder as Peeta and I walk back to the Victor's Village, our steps small, our pace painfully slow, our fingers tightly interlocked, which of these two viewpoints will prove true for us. I wish I could proclaim without a doubt that we would be one of the lucky ones, that for us, love would be the only thing we ever needed, that the petty, everyday trials and tribulations would pale in comparison to something so all-encompassing, so impenetrable. I want this to be the case. I want it to be him, and only him, for the rest of my life. But I am not sure as I turn to look at him, as he feels my gaze on him and his eyes meet mine. As he squeezes my hand, but I can still feel the resistance, I can still see that something continues to hold him back from me, that he is not ready to give himself to me fully. No, I am not certain about us. And in some ways it hurts more than when we weren't speaking, when I thought I had lost him for good.

"What does that look mean?" he asks, and I realize I have been staring at him forlornly as these thoughts race through my head.

"Nothing," I mumble, quickly glancing away. "Was just thinking."

"Are you upset that I stopped us from going further before?"

"A little," I say, but that is obviously not the half of it. We are nearing our road now and my stomach clenches with apprehension. "This just isn't what I thought it would feel like..."

We walk for another minute or so, but then he comes to a sharp halt, bringing me to a stop along with him. My house is in sight now, and I find myself praying it is really as dark as it appears, that the night will camouflage us from the view of my windows incase Gale is there, watching and waiting, the way I suspect he might be.

I feel the warmth of his arms encircle me, and he lifts my chin so that I am forced to answer to his questioning blue eyes.

"Talk to me," he says. "If you have something to say, do it now. Before you go back to him."

I shrink away at the implication of his words, but he grasps me in place, not permitting me to move.

"I'm sorry," he says with a grimace. "That came out wrong. I'm not saying I think you're going to-"

I don't let him finish, as my words come pouring out. "This isn't what I thought it would feel like, because I thought when we fell in love, we would be happy. That it would be just us. That we would trust one another. But it's not just us. We're not happy. You don't trust me. I'm not sure that you ever will..."

He frowns. "That's not true. Believe me, I want more than anything to work this out with you. But the fact remains that you do have someone else waiting for you at home right now. Someone who is in love with you, who has been for years. And yeah, I admit it, I still don't feel totally at ease even if you did tell me you love me."

"Why?" I demand, my eyes piercing into his. "Why don't you believe me?"

"It's not that I don't believe you. I do. But like you said, it isn't just the two of us right now. I don't know what has gone on between you two or what he is thinking it all means. I'm willing to bet he has no idea who you are with right now."

I'm immediately insulted by his accusation until I'm reminded that it's true. I struggle a little in his arms, allowing myself more breathing room.

"I will handle this my own way," I say. "And why should I have told Gale anything about you prior to this? I thought there was no hope for us. You essentially gave me your blessing to be with him, whether I asked for it or not. Then Delly was staying at your house." I sigh deeply. "Peeta, we've both fucked up."

He nods as he rubs my bare arms, warming them from the cool night air, but there is still that wary, suspicious look in his eyes.

"What exactly do you think I've done with her?" He asks me slowly, dragging out his words, his eyebrows slightly raised.

I suddenly feel uneasy. "I- I mean, I don't know. You implied you two were hooking up. I assumed you had slept together."

There is a knowing look on his face as he shakes his head, as if that was exactly the answer he expected. "No, I haven't slept with her."

Fuck. I know I should be relieved by this news, but instead I am oddly panicked. I had hated the idea of him being intimate with Delly, but at the same time it was a comfort to think that we had both strayed from one another, that we were both at fault. Now it was back to me being the villain, the one with no self-control, the cheater.

I fumble over my words. "But you said before... you said you didn't care if things ever got serious because that's not what you wanted her for."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying nothing has happened. But sex? It's been two days, Katniss. I don't have feelings for her like that..."

"So what have you done?"

He looks so uncomfortable. While Gale would probably relish chronicling his sexual conquests in graphic detail, I know that like me, Peeta is an intensely private person. Still, I have a right to know if we are ever going to be able to work this out. We can't rebuild ourselves if there are still unanswered questions.

"We had a bit to drink last night... I was feeling shitty over the last time you and I met up, the way we left things. Whatever, I'm making excuses, I know." He takes a moment before continuing. "We started to make out a little, it was harmless really, but then she uh-" He pauses.

"Spit it out, Peeta," I say, growing impatient.

"She said I looked stressed, that she knew a way to relax me. And then next thing I knew, she was kneeling in front of me." He looks away, guiltily. "I was drunk, Katniss."

I crinkle my nose as if a terrible odor has permeated the air, repulsed at the thought. "So she gave you head?"

"I know I shouldn't have let her. It felt weird coming from her, to be honest. I had to think of you in order to be able to- Well, you know."

"That's lovely," I mutter sarcastically. Maybe there is a reason that sometimes details such as these are better left unsaid...

"I'm sorry," he says earnestly, taking my hands in his. "It was a moment of weakness, for sure, but it meant nothing."

"It's okay," I say absentmindedly, because now I am preoccupied thinking about having to reciprocate and tell him about Gale. While I am less than enthused at where Delly's mouth has been, in the grand scheme of things, his transgression seems like nothing compared to mine. I am terrified that he won't understand, that he will pull away again just when we are starting to come back together.

"Your turn," he murmurs, but looking at him now, I think he might be dreading hearing what I have to say more than I am dreading saying it.

"Okay, but please hear everything I have to say," I say, staring imploringly into his eyes.

"That bad, huh?" He laughs weakly, but his expression is somber.

I have never been so tempted to lie in my life, or at least to tell a half truth. What I have to say is only going to hurt him, to make him distrust me further. He will most likely never find out if I do... But I will know. And I promised myself I would never lie to or keep anything from Peeta again.

I decide the best approach is to just say it outright with no filler, like ripping a band aid off in one swift yank.

"We had sex. Twice last night. And he went down on me after the second time."

There is no way for him to conceal the hurt and disappointment on his face, and he doesn't try. Now, when I would rather not know, I feel like I can read his thoughts without him saying a word._ How could you?; Once is bad enough, but twice?!; It was like pulling teeth convincing you that you wanted to kiss him, but it took no time at all for you to fuck him._ I hear him loud and clear. But it is not the flash of anger that momentarily lights up his eyes that is the hardest to watch, it is the letdown, the fact that he can no longer disillusion himself about me, about what I've done.

"I didn't even feel like myself when it happened," I continue. "After the last time we talked, when you told me that I should move on, that you didn't think we belonged together, I felt like I hit rock bottom. I didn't care about anything anymore, it all felt so meaningless. I just wanted to stop hurting, to get my mind off of you. I was trying to force myself to accept that it was over between us, that if I wanted a chance at a relationship, maybe I could find it with him instead. But all it did was leave me feeling empty and alone. Instead I just missed you more than ever."

I can see him losing focus, and I grip his hands strongly in mine. He doesn't want to look at me, I can tell, but he does anyway.

"I love you, Peeta. I love you for everything you are, for everything you make me want to be. I'm sorry it took this for me to come to my senses, but being with him has made me realize that he means nothing to me. And that you mean everything."

I squeeze him, and a few seconds later, he squeezes back.

"I love you too," he says and there is a tenderness to his voice that I don't expect as he gazes unwaveringly into my eyes.

I feel like my heart could burst from happiness, from relief. This is the first time he's said those three words to me in so long, and in this moment, I know the significance they have.

"You're not mad?" I ask hesitantly.

"I am," he admits quietly. "But I also know that I pushed you away before. I was so afraid of getting hurt that I completely shut you out, I drove you to him. Like you said, we both fucked up."

It is late now and after our outpouring of words, an exhausted silence falls over us. I wish I could fast-forward. To the point in time when all of this was a distant memory. When we wouldn't have to stand here outside in the dark, having a conversation like this. I want to just be able to hold him, to kiss him, without wondering if it's too soon, without worrying that the thoughts of me doing those things with someone else won't be fresh in his mind.

"I know we can't fix things overnight," I say, taking a chance as I slide my arms around his waist. "But I will do whatever it takes to win you back, to make things right between us again."

"You know what you have to do," he says. "I can't be with you until he's gone. He has to know it's over between you two."

"I know," I say, even as the thought of it fills me with a paralyzing anxiety. Of course I know. "I'll do it tonight."

"I'll go with you if you want," he says. "We can tell him together."

But I shake my head. This is something I have to do, and something I must do alone. Besides, I know seeing Gale is the last thing Peeta wants to do right now, especially after the information he has just learned. I don't pretend not to notice that he is making this offer out of fear, that the thought of watching me walk into my house and shutting the front door behind me unsettles him.

"Trust me, Peeta," I murmur, as I break away from him.

We lock eyes and communicate through unspoken words. That he will try to not assume the worst. That I will go and set things right. That we will both take this first step in finding our way back to one another.

He leans in and presses a simple kiss to my lips. I yearn for more, to pull him in closer, but I let him step away without protest. I know I have to wait. That until I take care of Gale, I'll never feel the passionate heat of his mouth on mine again.

"Call me in the morning," he says. "Or stop by. I'll explain things to Delly as well."

I nod as he brings his hand to my cheek, reluctant to leave. He gives me one last small smile before burying his hands in his pockets and continuing on his way.

I have to take several deep breaths before I work up the courage to unlock my door, to turn the doorknob and enter the house. It's almost as dark inside as it was outside, and I take a quick survey of the downstairs to see where Gale is. I almost miss him in the blackness, jumping in surprise as my leg brushes against his feet that dangle off the arm of the couch in the living room.

"What are you doing in the dark like this?" I ask, leaning over him to turn on a lamp.

"Just resting a little until you got back," he says, but he doesn't sound tired at all as he sits up.

When he speaks next, his voice is low and stern. "I know you weren't at Greasy Sae's right now. I knew before you even left, but it felt pointless to try and stop you."

"I'm sorry," I say as I sink wearily down on the opposite end of the couch from him, my hands nervously clasping together. It's a good thing I'm turning my back on this duplicitous lifestyle I have going because I'm obviously not very good at it.

"You were with him I guess?" He demands more than asks, his tone growing increasingly hostile. "Seems things aren't as over between you two as you'd like to have me believe. I've been here a day and you're already lying to my face. I've made sacrifices to come see you, you know. I sure as hell wouldn't have arranged to come if I knew I was going to be waiting around for you to get home from being with your other boyfriend."

"Gale, I know you're upset, but do you want me to explain or do you want to yell at me? Your choice."

It's hard for me to even feel sympathy; he continues to rub me the wrong way even now when I know I should feel sorry for how I've treated him.

He crosses his arms defiantly across his chest. "Go ahead. I'm dying to hear it."

He can be so nasty, his tone as biting as ever. And that's when I decide, no. I have had too long of a night already, enough emotional upheaval. He doesn't need to hear every last detail of me and Peeta's tumultuous love affair that not even I fully understand yet, he just needs to know it's over.

"Gale, this was a mistake. Telling you to come here, spending the night together. I was confused. Things ended so strangely between us before, and when you came back to 12, I didn't know how to feel, what to think, what we should be... But we're not meant to be this."

I hesitate slightly at his bone-chilling stare. If looks could kill... For a second, I'm almost afraid he is going to strike me or worse, the fury in his eyes so intense, but instead he takes a deep breath and looks to the side.

"It wasn't right of me to string you along when I didn't fully understand what it was that I wanted, and for that I am truly sorry. You deserve better than this, and I have no doubt you'll find it."

"So what, now you're shipping me off so that you can resume what's obviously already proved to be such a happy, healthy relationship with him? Who are you kidding, Katniss? You two can't make this work."

I raise my eyebrows, forever amazed at his audacity. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but that's for us to find out."

"I don't understand your fascination with him," he says darkly. "I know you went through the Games together, but it's more than just that, isn't it? You feel some sick responsibility for him. Like you have to try and fix him. Like by fixing him, you'll fix yourself in the process."

"You can save your analysis for someone else, Gale. As usual, you have no idea what you're talking about." Now I am the one glaring, my resolve to be patient with him quickly deteriorating.

"You know I'm right," he says with a sneer. "Or at least you will in time. He's a trainwreck, and I hate to break it to you, but you don't seem to be doing too hot yourself. It'll be like the blind leading the blind if you two get together. You need someone to be strong for you. How can he be that person? He can barely take care of himself."

"And I suppose you're that strong person I so desperately need?"

"You'll see," he murmurs. "I know you better than anyone."

"You used to," I say. "And I used to know you."

A tense quiet comes over the room, the only sound coming from the second hand of the grandfather clock in the corner. Its ticking seems to escalate in its loudness until the drone of its movement assaults my eardrums, and I can barely concentrate on anything else. I just want him to leave. He has already accepted that this isn't going to end in his favor, I know this because he has already given up, and Gale does not accept defeat unless he knows for sure that his efforts will be in vain. He is not fighting for me, or trying to convince me why I should be with him, but he is incapable of just leaving it at that, at letting me win. He is vengeful, and he knows exactly what he's doing, attempting to plant a seed of doubt in my mind, hoping that over time it will grow and fester until it drives Peeta and me apart.

"Did you tell him about us?" he asks, the corners of his lips curling into a sinister smile.

"For your information, I did. Sorry you won't get the chance to blackmail me."

"That's right, I forgot you don't lie to him - only to me," he mutters. "And I guess he pretended to be fine with it? Please don't tell me you're naive enough to believe that."

"You knew I'd been with him and you still wanted to be with me," I say. "Why is this so different?"

He shrugs me off. "We weren't even speaking when you two were hooking up, I knew I was coming from behind, that I had to work for it if I wanted to win you over. This is different. You were with him and then messed around with me before deciding you wanted to be with him again. Men are territorial, even soft ones like Peeta. I don't care if you were on a break or not speaking or whatever bull shit you told me, it will burn him, and for a long time to come."

"You've got it all figured out, don't you?" I say with a hiss. "I don't know how you could even compare yourself to him. He's nothing like you."

"Because I'm such a piece of shit, right?" His eyes flare with anger. "I like how you're the goddamn cheater, and somehow I'm still the bad guy in your eyes. Say and think all you want about me, Katniss, but I was willing to put everything you had with him behind us. I would have loved you unconditionally, I would have been faithful to you. And I am just being honest when I say that you can't expect that he's going to do the same. He might forgive you, but he won't forget. He'll never love you the way I love you. Not after this. He'll always be suspicious of you, paranoid that you'll find someone else. You must know that on some level."

I rise to my feet then, my patience officially spent. "I've had enough," I say coolly. "I'm going to get ready for bed. I can prepare the guest room for you if you'd like."

"Don't bother," he says, also standing. "I'm leaving."

"Don't be ridiculous, it's late. Where are you going to stay?"

"I'll spend the night at Haymitch's. Even if he's drunk and passed out, it's not like he ever locks his door. I could sleep there and he'd never notice. I'll arrange to leave first thing in the morning and get the fuck out of this god forsaken town."

"I'll get your things."

More than anything I feel relieved as I gather his bag from my bedroom floor, snatching a t-shirt of his from under my bed covers and stuffing it inside. I wish it didn't have to end this way between us, that I could say we would keep in touch and mean it, but I know there's no going back to the way things were. Even if there was somehow, I doubt either of us would want to.

"I think this is everything," I say, as I meet him back downstairs. He is waiting by the door, presumably as anxious to be away from me as I am to be away from him.

"Well, I guess this is it," he says, as he takes his bag from me, slinging it haphazardly over his shoulder. "Good luck with everything. You'll need it."

I frown at him as I unlock the door and hold it open, but before he can pass through the frame, I grab his arm. His grey eyes peer into mine as he turns to look at me.

"You did mean something to me, Gale," I say, my voice the most vulnerable it has been all night. "You'll always mean something to me. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

He nods, but his gaze is cold and unfeeling, and I know there's no chance of reconciliation. Not now and probably never.

"Don't come crying to me when things with Peeta crash and burn. And they will."

Those are his last words to me as he walks out of my door and out of my life forever.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Damn Gale. Damn Gale to hell. I haven't seen or heard from him since the night I ended things and he stormed out of my house, and I don't doubt it's for good, but it's as if before he left, he placed a curse on me, hexed any chance of smooth sailing with his vindictive mind games, ensured that his presence would continue to haunt me, that his vicious words would cling to the recesses of my mind and echo mercilessly whenever they pleased.

Every time I catch a glimpse of that distant look in Peeta's eyes, every time he hugs and kisses me but it feels purposely shallow, every time he won't stay the night, which is most nights, Gale's words begin to resume their taunting inside my head. That the two of us will never really work. That he might forgive, but he won't forget; the visual of Gale and me will remain seared indelibly in his memory. That true trust in me is an ideal but not a reality, that he will always be suspicious and suffer from a feeling of inferiority that will ultimately destroy us. That he will never fully love me. Yes, that we will crash and burn.

It's unfair of me really. How personally I take Peeta's every action. How I analyze his every word. Assuming the worst. Because I was warned, I was warned that morning when I went to Peeta's, to tell him the good news: that Gale was gone, there wasn't a single person or thing that could stand in our way anymore.

I had felt his joy, his relief, as his body engulfed mine on his sofa, as we held each other close for a long time. It had felt so sublime, to think that this nightmare was over, to know that by banishing Gale away I had saved us and now we could revert back to the way we had been at our best and brightest. Even though I had uttered the words to him only hours earlier, "I know we can't fix things overnight," I chose not to believe them then. In that moment we had felt infinite, unstoppable, and I honestly thought it might really be that easy.

"So?" I had asked, my eyes dancing with the possibilities. I had kissed him once and then again, and then several times more, intoxicated by the taste of him, the feel of him, the smell of mint on his skin. "Can we celebrate?" I pulled playfully at the waist of his jeans.

"Easy, cowgirl," he had said with a laugh, but then his hands had settled on my upper arms and my lips had been pried away from his. He made sure he had my full attention, his gaze warm but steady with resolve. "Let's take things slow, okay? I don't want to rush this."

I eyed him warily, and that's when the Gale refrain really started. _Good luck. You'll need it._

"What exactly does that mean?"

He raised his eyebrows at me then as if to say _What_ doesn't_ it mean?_

"Is this because Delly is upstairs?" I asked.

"That. And the fact that 24 hours ago we weren't even speaking. That less than two days ago you were with someone else. He probably hasn't even left the district yet."

"Of course," I mumbled, awkwardly removing myself from him. "Of course you would bring that up."

"Look at me," he said, and he wouldn't continue until I had. "Look at me and tell me you are really ready to sleep with me right now. When she is upstairs. When you know what I did with her."

"I was ready last night, I am now. I couldn't care less about the two of them. You're the one who doesn't want this."

He had shaken his head. "You aren't thinking this through. We are going to fall into the same trap as before. Where we hide behind our physical intimacy, where we don't address what needs to be addressed."

"What is there to be addressed? I love you and you say you love me. What else matters?"

"I just want to enjoy this, I want to enjoy every moment with you," he said softly, and his hand enclosed mine. "When we do, I want it to be for all of the right reasons. Not just to get the bad taste of them out of our mouths." He traces my bottom lip with his finger, before he presses his mouth to mine. "Please don't think for a second that this is because I don't love you."

"Okay," I had agreed, albeit weakly, and for a short while I had let it go.

A day later we had confirmation from Haymitch that Gale had left, supposedly grumbling all the way about how he would never return. Less than a week later, Delly had moved into her new house in town, her smile sheepish as she thanked Peeta for his hospitality and told me to come over anytime. The two people who had come in between us were gone, but still the distance between us continued.

"Why won't you stay the night?" I had asked, as Peeta got up to leave one evening several days after Delly left.

"We talked about this," he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "Soon, okay?"

"It doesn't make sense, you know. Even if you don't want to take things further yet, we used to sleep in the same bed long before there was anything romantic between us."

"Yes, but now there is. I wouldn't be able to hold myself back anymore."

"So?" I had thrown up my hands in exasperation. "So what?!"

"So, I'm not ready," he had said. And with a limp kiss, he had left.

Another time, a solid two weeks after Gale and Delly were gone, we were on his couch, the tv on but ignored in the background as we kissed each other frenziedly, his hands busy under my shirt, mine tangled in his hair, our hearts pounding as the moment continued to escalate.

But just when I thought he had finally let down his guard, he began his descent, his kisses steadily diminishing in force until he was softly pecking my lips, his hands reluctantly but intentionally leaving the bare flesh of my torso.

He had tried to just hold me after, to snuggle back down on the couch and resume our tv show as if nothing had happened, but I had coldly pushed him away, my pride officially hurt.

"Katniss, don't be like this," he had said. "Come here."

"Why don't you want me?" I demanded to know.

He had taken my hand and pressed it against his bulging erection in response. "What was the question again?"

I had smiled, but only for a second. "You're punishing me," I said quietly.

He frowned. "I'm sorry you think that, but that's not what this is."

"Then what? What are you thinking? What is going on in your head when we are together, that keeps making you stop, that makes you pull back?"

"I don't know," he answered. But I knew. I knew because Gale had so graciously told me. Because he couldn't forget.

We have had many conversations like these two. Where he rejects me, where I come across as sex-crazed and overly emotional. Where at first I feel that something must be wrong with me for being so ready to move forward when he so obviously isn't, but then I become convinced something is wrong with him for being so stunted, for refusing to take a chance on us. Either way, it seems to me that something is very wrong, and it is slowly but surely taking its toll on me.

Still, we spend most of our time together, we continue to learn more about one another, to discover what really makes us tick, and I can't help it, despite everything, despite all my fears, I find myself falling harder and harder for him with every passing day. He is so kind, so affectionate, so protective, so... Peeta. He lets me watch him paint, I take him hunting and don't even care when he scares away all but the most unassuming of animals with his heavy footsteps, we bake and cook dinner together, I watch tv huddled in his arms. Every time he stops what he is doing to kiss me, I hold my breath with anticipation, I melt into him as his lips touch mine, I feel like I could burst, he makes me so happy, so complete.

Then the night comes. And he won't stay, he won't allow us to act on the building desire from the day, and my dark thoughts return. Damn Gale. Damn Gale to hell.

It will be three weeks tomorrow that Gale left 12, and it's almost scary how removed I feel from him, how difficult it is to conjure up what it was I ever felt for him at all. He certainly wasn't worth all this.

I never told Peeta everything he said to me that last night. It hadn't seemed necessary in the moment, but as time goes on, as Gale's words continue to stir these anxious, rattling thoughts that keep me awake, as Peeta continues to hold just enough of himself back from me, I realize it's important for him to know. That by not sharing my insecurities with him, I am solving nothing, I am only creating a greater chasm between us.

So that night I bring it up. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Anything," he says.

"It's about Gale, is that okay?"

"Yes..." He starts, but his voice is unsure. "Have you talked with him recently?"

"God, no. Nothing like that. It's about what he said before he left, the night I ended things."

He nods at me encouragingly. "I know you said he was nasty to you. But why, what did he say? I'm sorry I never really asked before... I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"I didn't. But it's been bothering me. A lot actually."

Next thing I know every word exchanged between us that night is spilling from my lips like a torrent. It's eerie how I can recite it, more or less, verbatim. Gale would probably be proud - that his words had stung me so deeply. It's an awkward conversation to share with Peeta - it exposes all of our weaknesses, the ones we try to forget, and Gale certainly didn't paint him in a positive light, but I need him to understand what's running through my head, why I've been interpreting his actions the way I have.

"I don't know why you even bothered to listen to him," he mutters when I've finished, although his voice wavers with anger. "You know what a jackass Gale can be when he feels threatened. If he's miserable, everyone else has to be too."

"I know he did it out of spite, that he wanted to hurt me, but I couldn't help but see some truth in what he said..."

"That we're both broken, hopeless causes? Because that part might be true," he says with a weak smile. "No, what was the word he used? Trainwrecks?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you every asinine word he used. You don't need to hear that shit."

He shrugs. "I honestly don't care what his opinion of me is, Katniss. I care what you think. So tell me what's been bothering you so much about what he said."

"Just his insistence that we wouldn't last, that we couldn't make this work... it was unnerving."

"That's what he wanted. He was trying to upset you, to rile you up. Besides, what does it matter what he thinks?" He knits his brows. "Do _you_ think we can't make this work?"

"I don't want to, but you act so strange sometimes, Peeta. You're warm and everything is perfect and then all of a sudden... you're cold and it's not."

He shifts uncomfortably on the couch next to me, his eyes down. He doesn't deny it, he doesn't say anything at all.

"Ever since Gale left, I feel like you've been using this as a trial period to test me out. Like you aren't sure about me, and you don't want to commit or go too far with me incase you decide you can't do this, you can't forgive me, and have to take it all back."

Somehow I'm just as surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth as he is. But it's true - it's exactly how I feel, it's exactly what I fear.

A flash of guilt enters his eyes. "I never meant for you to feel that way," he says "but I can see why you would. I know I've been distant at times... It's just been so hard to strike a balance with you. I've wanted you so badly." He murmurs his last words as he hungrily scans my body. "But at the same time I was still hurt, I was still angry, I didn't trust that this was real yet. So I wouldn't let myself give in. I wasn't testing you, I was testing myself, but I didn't take enough notice to realize how much it was hurting you in the process." He sighs. "I'm sorry, baby."

"So you've been silently resenting me this whole time. Peeta, this is exactly what I'm talking about. This is what worries me."

"No," he says, vehemently shaking his head. "Maybe I'm not explaining myself well. Not resenting. Working through it. I've been taking the time to work through this. And it's helping, it is. I'm not angry anymore." He inches closer to me, his fingers finding their way to the inside of my wrist, massaging my palm with his thumb. "These past few weeks with you have been incredible. I didn't mean to hold out on you, I just wanted us to have the chance to start over, to do things differently than we had before. I wanted it to really mean something the next time."

He pauses to study me for a moment. "Am I making sense?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, more quietly than I expected. "I think so."

Ours eyes stay locked and a hushed air takes over the room as his hand glides up along my arm and around to the nape of my neck. He runs his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp, my shoulders, my upper back between strokes. He grips my skin a little bit firmer each time, pulling me closer to him, and a trail of goosebumps breaks out down both my arms and spreads to my legs.

"You're so beautiful," he says, and an unmistakable intensity has entered his eyes, his voice, his touch. Something about the way he is looking at me makes my stomach clench in excitement, but I try my best to curb it, to not get ahead of myself. I've worked myself up too many nights to have it end in disappointment, and I promise myself I won't get my hopes up tonight.

"You are too," I answer playfully in an attempt to lighten the mood. But I actually do mean it. He is... gorgeous, so gorgeous to me.

He smiles, that shy Peeta smile, but then he is intently staring at me again, first at my lips, then the curve of my breasts over my tank-top, and finally at my bare legs that rest across his lap. I feel like it might have made me uncomfortable in the past, to be visually devoured like this, the desire so transparent on his face, but right now it is just arousing me.

He bends forward to kiss me, and at the touch of our lips, I feel a shock, like a lightning bolt through my body, a twinge of sharp yearning between my legs. He's barely touched me, and I'm already losing it. It's unreal, the effect he has over me.

His kisses are small at first, but they grow bigger, longer, tenser as his hands move down from my neck and freely roam my body. His fingers travel along my my collarbone, my breasts, my stomach, my hips, down to my legs, and then make a return trip, taking a route up my inner thighs on their way back up.

I gasp as he rubs me through the thin cotton of my shorts and then again when he moves underneath them so that his index finger teasingly nudges my clitoris through my panties.

"What are you doing?" I ask with a sigh, but he just continues. It's been so long since he's touched me there. It feels so good... and there's still a layer of clothing in between us. To feel just his finger, his tongue on me... I would kill for it.

His mouth nips at the corners of my mouth, my jaw line, and then sinks into my neck, assaulting the sensitive flesh with delicious biting kisses. Simultaneously he slips two fingers under my panties and they begin to work circles on my throbbing clit as his free hand disappears under my shirt to fondle my breasts. I don't know how he's doing it, how he's managing to multi-task like this, but as he keeps going, my eyes are practically rolling in the back of my head, I am so far gone already, so overcome with pleasure. I don't know what to focus on, I can't distinguish between the sensations coming from his mouth, his right hand, his left, and I quickly give up trying and just lose myself to the mind-numbing overall effect of the three.

"Are you close?" he asks, his breath hot and heavy on my neck.

I moan in response, but manage to elicit a whimpering "Yes."

"I better stop then," he says matter-of-factly, removing his hand from my panties and then my shorts.

I glower at him. Since when is Peeta the type to tease? "What is wrong with you?"

"Is that really how you want to come?" He moves my hand to the zipper of his khakis as he brings his mouth to mine. Oh, so this is even an option? Well, then he's right, I don't want to come like that. I taste the salt of my skin on his tongue as I am lured in again, gripping his erection through the fabric of his shorts, yanking on it gently to feel him groan against my lips.

I have to say it. "What happened to taking things slow?"

"Screw it. We've waited long enough," he says, his breathing becoming ragged. "Besides we will. We'll take it real slow."

It's unclear what's come over him, what's instigated this change of heart, but I know there's no going back at this point. He's reached his breaking point of staying strong, and I ensure his submission to me further by unbuttoning and unzipping his fly, removing his member from the flap in his boxers, and forming a firm grip around him.

He groans. "Want to go upstairs?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, laughing at how disheveled he already looks as he rises to his feet and tucks himself back in his shorts. "It's kind of cramped on this couch anyway."

He takes my hand and leads me up the stairs, the same way he did that first night, when he came back to 12, when he made love to me for the first time. When everything changed for us.

We enter my room and he stops at the foot of the bed, turning to face me, his hands settling on my hips as he eases back in to resume our kiss. He tastes so sweet, so warm, but he's right, he is taking things slow as we share one long, lazy kiss after another. His arms snake around my waist and we sway slightly from side to side as if having our own private slow dance to music only we can hear. I've already been on the verge of orgasm tonight, but now that we have relocated up to my room, it's like we are starting from square one, like we have all the time in the world to work up to it again. But I guess we do...

He tugs at my bottom lip with his teeth. "Can I undress you?" he asks.

I nod, watching him silently as he first removes my shirt and then unhurriedly pulls my shorts down my legs. He presses a kiss to the inside of my neck as he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra, and before its hit the floor his large, strong hands are on my breasts, kneading and caressing them until my nipples are rock hard and begging for attention. He rolls them between his thumb and his forefinger with a tantalizing deftness as his tongue darts into my mouth to find mine. I moan against him, a pulsating ache at my core.

Growing restless, I slip off my panties without breaking away from him and reach to tug down his shorts and boxers in one abrupt motion. I step back so he can lift his shirt over his head, watching him discard it in the growing pile of our clothing around our feet.

I take in his naked body from head to toe, admiring every last inch of him, especially _those_ inches of him, and I can't help but smile to myself as I notice him stare back at me with the same appreciative adoration.

He reaches for me then, lifting me up into his arms and laying me down in the center of the bed. He reclines beside me, and I turn to him so that we are facing one another as his hand once again wanders my body, this time without the confines of my clothing to prevent me from feeling every electric brush of his fingers along my skin. I feel his manhood up against my stomach, eager and ready. Just the thought of him inside of me makes me damp with desire.

He props himself up so that he is leaning over me, and presses a light kiss to my mouth, a kiss that soon deepens as I take his hardness in my hand, jerking him slowly. He groans as his hand follows suit, cupping my mound before inserting first one and then two fingers into my pooling wetness, thrusting them in and out with a steady rhythm as he palms my clit. I moan, the building need once again taking over. His mouth lowers to lick and suck on my nipples and I cry out as his fingers push inside me harder.

"I want you inside of me," I plead between kisses. "I _need_ you."

I begin to stroke his length up and down, faster and faster, and he growls. "I need you too, baby."

He gets up to move between my legs, spreading them further apart. He positions the head of his erection at my entrance, and for a moment we stop to just stare at one another. We are both panting, our eyes wild with longing. But there is something else in them too, something that wasn't there before.

"This reminds me of-"

"Our first time," I say, finishing his sentence, and we both smile.

He hovers over me, his bright blue eyes burning into mine, and I am almost shaking with expectation, I want him so much. He leans forward to kiss me, but he enters me just before his mouth reaches mine, and I cry out against his lips at the impact, the perfect fit of him as he disappears inside of me. He closes his eyes, groans, and thrusts inside of me again. I moan as he stills to touch my clit.

"Peeta," I sigh, tangling my hands in his hair. "Don't stop."

He starts up again slowly, gliding himself in and out of me, delectably filling me over and over again. In many ways it does feel like the first time, but there is no pain, only surge after surge of powerful, mind-bending pleasure. I don't know if it is the fact that it has been so many weeks since we've last been intimate like this, or if it's due to the gradual build-up of foreplay tonight, but every movement of his is sending jolts of indescribable sensation coursing throughout my body.

He shifts onto his elbows now and I welcome the weight of his body on top of mine even though it limits my own mobility as he holds me down. My hips move to meet his as he finally speeds up, thrusting harder and deeper inside of me. He grasps my head between his hands and kisses me passionately, as if it requires every fiber of his being, and I whimper as I feel my legs stiffen, my insides quiver, my mind blank, my thoughts scatter.

"Baby, I'm gonna come," he warns, but I barely hear him as I unravel and explode around him, my animalistic cries filling the room. My climax triggers his as the tightening of my inner walls clench around his member and he empties himself into me with a loud, satisfied grunt, collapsing on top of me.

He kisses my lips before he pulls out, rolling over to his side of the bed, pulling me to his chest. I let him move my limp, drained body onto his, too spent to move myself. It takes several more minutes to come down from the high of my orgasm and back to reality, my entire body still tingling. I have never felt this calm, this physically good in my life.

"I have to hand it to you, it was worth the wait," I say.

He laughs, hugging me closer to him. "All part of my master plan."

I lazily stroke his chest with my hand, my eyes beginning to close and sleep threatening to overtake me

"Katniss," he whispers, alerting me back to the present as he tilts my chin up so that I am staring into those beautiful, expressive eyes. "I love you. So much."

And I can feel it, can feel his love everywhere. In his gaze, in the way he holds me, in the words both spoken and left unsaid.

"I love you too," I whisper back, and I arch my neck as we share one more lingering kiss.

I know it then. We are going to be those lucky ones, those people who can survive on love alone. Life isn't going to be easy for us, we are always going to struggle, perhaps even more so than other people, but for every moment like this with him, it is going to be worth it. It is Peeta, it is Peeta's love, that I cannot live without.

I can feel myself drifting off as I settle back down on his chest, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I am certain. Certain that everything is going to be okay.

_The End_

**A/N:**

**I want to thank everyone who read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this story - Your support has meant a lot to me! Feel free to leave one last review and let me know what you thought :) **


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